


Summer of Twenty

by seryters



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Boys Kissing, Fluff, I'm sorry for this, Lots of Making Out is more accurate actually, Lots of kissing, M/M, Making Out, Pining, Practice Kissing, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Suggestive Themes, jealous dream, no beta we die like men, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28851549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seryters/pseuds/seryters
Summary: "I've never kissed anybody," George confesses.Dream doesn't understand how that's possible. Like this, basked in the comfort of the moonlight, George is beautiful."Really? Who wouldn't want to kiss you?" There's too much honesty in Dream's voice. It's raw—a confession practically begging to be brought to light."Dream," George is careful, as if his next words could lead to Dream's downfall.And they do."Can you teach me how to kiss?"
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 232
Kudos: 1475





	1. For Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Dream or George ever change their mind regarding shipping/fanfiction, I will be taking this fic down.
> 
> For now, I hope you enjoy reading my first chaptered fic (ever) featuring two oblivious idiots and the cliché "practice kissing" prompt.

Dream is _so_ close to falling asleep when a notification comes through and sets off an obnoxiously loud ping from his phone. With a frustrated grunt, he reaches out blindly, feeling around on his bedside desk until he finds the device.

There’s only three contacts Dream allows to override the “do not disturb” mechanism on his phone: his mom, his sister, and—

“George,” Dream groans when he sees the ‘ _U up?’_ on his lock screen. The temptation to ignore the text and return to slumber is strong, but Dream knows George wouldn’t be texting him for absolutely no reason. Not at ungodly hours in the night at least.

_‘depends..’_

Dream sits up a little, perching his head on his hand as he waits for a reply. The moonlight pierces through his sheer curtains, providing him some comfort.

_‘On?’_

A small smirk tugs onto Dream’s face as he types out his reply.

_‘what are you gonna give me in return?’_

Dream can’t help but chuckle as George’s text bubble appears and disappears. He knows that George is trying to come up with a witty reply, but since it’s late for both of them, it’s going to take a little longer.

He rubs his fists at the corner of his eyes and then pushes himself up into a comfortable sitting position, trying to get rid of his drowsiness. A shiver runs down his back as his blanket slips down and bunches up by his waist, leaving his torso exposed to the draft seeping in from his open window.

_‘Are you a fan of crafting tables?’_

Dream barks out a laugh at that, tossing his head back and then wincing when he bangs it against the wall. His left hand shoots up to cradle his head, the pads of his finger soothing the wounded area. Down the hallway, the light in Sapnap’s room turns on and Dream waves awkwardly when his friend peeks his head out to squint at him.

“You okay, man? What happened?” Sapnap’s words slur together, clear evidence that he’s still half asleep. It’s not out of character for Sapnap to be so caring, which is exactly why Dream can’t fight off the fond smile on his face as he gives hin a thumbs up.

“I’m good! Hit myself by accident.”

“Idiot,” Sapnap mutters after an amused scoff. He lingers for a second longer though, waiting for Dream to explain further, and while Dream is thankful for his friend’s concern, he’s a bit—

_‘What? Did I leave you speechless?’_ —busy.

Dream rolls his eyes at his phone, forgetting about his current situation for a brief second, but Sapnap’s voice reels him back. “Who’s that?” 

Tossing his phone over his shoulder, Dream waves his hand dismissively and lets out a nervous laugh. “Nobody! Uh- don’t you have to catch up on your beauty rest?” Luckily for him, Sapnap’s ego is too big _not_ to fall for the bait. 

“Damn right,” Sapnap replies and with one last, scrutinizing look, he disappears into his room.

Behind him, Dream’s phone vibrates and slides off his pillow, landing right by his hip. He glances down at it curiously and to no surprise, George’s name greets him.

_‘Sapnap just told me you woke him up. Did I affect you that much?’_

Dream can’t help but snort at that. Once the gears in George’s head start turning, there’s no stopping him. Befriending a smartass might not have been Dream’s best choice.

_‘maybe you did. maybe i really like crafting tables.’_ But then again, Dream’s a smartass himself. _‘or maybe i just really like you.’_

It’s always like this: a constant back and forth, one biting and the other biting harder. Sometimes it’s bickering, seeing who can get under whose skin quicker, and sometimes it’s _this_ , teasing in the form of subtle flirting. 

Flirting? Is that the right word for it? Flirting would imply something romantic, wouldn’t it? They weren’t being romantic.

Dream's clock ticks on, far too loud for him to not notice each second that passes by while he waits for a reply. He brushes his thumb over his screen, refreshing the app in the off-chance that a message hadn't gone through quite right, but there's nothing. It’s been nearly five minutes since George has seen his texts and normally that wouldn’t be too long, but George hasn’t even entertained him with a typing bubble.

He didn’t push too far, did he?

Upon rereading his texts for the umpteenth time, Dream still fails to find the line he might’ve crossed. George had started with the innuendos and Dream had simply played a long like always. Other than that, all Dream had said was that he _liked_ him. That wasn’t.. bad, was it?

Dream scratches the back of his head, eyebrows pinching together. He told George he loved him all the time, how was this any different? If George told _him_ he liked him, he wouldn’t find it weird. They were friends and friends were _supposed_ to like each other.

A soft buzz breaks Dream’s train of thoughts and Dream looks around for a moment before realizing that the noises are coming from his phone.

George is calling him.

“Or maybe I just really like you.”

Dream’s breath catches in his throat when George’s voice drips like honey through the speakers. There’s a groggy edge to his tone and Dream assumes he's in bed, just like him, which makes everything feel so much more.. real.

He was wrong. He was _so_ wrong. Saying ‘like’ instead of ‘love’ felt very, _very_ different.

“Are you serious? What’s wrong with you, Dream?” George hisses and Dream tries to play it off with a laugh. His right hand clenches itself into a fist, wrinkles forming in the duvet from the strength of his grip. “You’re so annoying.”

“Well, you set yourself up for it,” Dream says, leaning against the headboard of his bed and staring idly at the ceiling. “What did you text me for anyway?”

There’s a moment of silence following his question, but Dream doesn’t press on. If George was only looking for a distraction from whatever happened, then that’s what Dream would give him.

George trusts him—trusts him enough to show his vulnerable sides to him, like right now, and that means George will open up to him when he’s ready; he always does.

“Just wanted to talk,” George exhales quietly and Dream can almost feel the breath creeping down his neck. His eyes fall shut and he shudders. “Couldn’t sleep.” Dream can almost hear the pout on George’s lips with the way he softly mumbles under his breath.

“Aw,” he finds himself cooing. “I would say ‘same’ but I was doing just fine until..” He trails off, hearing George stumble over his words and ultimately stutter into an apology.

“O-Oh, sorry. I didn’t know. We can stop talking if—”

“No!” Dream’s interruption startles George into a gasp and the volume at which he shouts is a surprise to himself as well. He half expects Sapnap’s light to turn on again, but it doesn’t. “I mean- if I don’t distract you, I don’t get my prize, right?”

“Are you that interested in a crafting table?” George’s laugh sounds melodic and Dream finds himself unable to withhold a chuckle. The cold air doesn’t bother him as much anymore.

“I wouldn’t say it’s the crafting table I’m interested in.”

“Shut up, Dream,” George huffs and then he emits a soft whine that catches Dream off guard. Normally, he’s used to George’s tiny temper tantrums, so much so that he’s learned how to ‘deal’ with them. It’s why Sapnap always begs for him to 'tame' George when George is being a—for a lack of better words—brat. 

However, hearing his name fall from George’s lips like _that_ in the middle of the night definitely does things to Dream. Things it should _not_ be doing.

“Is it okay if we go to sleep like this?” George asks a beat later, this time much quieter and almost shy. Dream feels a twist in his heart, strings all tangled in sizable knots. It's a much different feeling from the one he harbored mere seconds ago, but somehow it's even more dangerous.

“Sure.” Slipping back down until his head hits the pillows, Dream tucks himself under his covers again and then sets his phone a few inches from his face. “Goodnight, George.”

“Sweet dreams,” George mumbles tiredly and Dream hears him shuffle around in bed before it grows quiet.

“As long as you’re in them again, they will be,” Dream whispers. George groans at that and Dream giggles, letting his eyelids flutter shut.

It’s safe to say that after lulling himself to sleep with the sound of George’s steady breathing, his dreams are definitely sweet.

* * *

When Dream wakes up, it’s not because of Sapnap’s whistle tone screaming nor is it because of Patches pawing at his cheek. Instead, it’s because of the soft noises coming from his phone.

The eerie sounds cause Dream a hefty amount of confusion at first. He can barely grasp a sense of his surroundings let alone comprehend what’s happening. “Patches,” he scolds lightly, reaching his hands up to move his cat away from his face. 

“ _Stop.._ ”

Dream’s eyes dart to his phone. It’s still too early for George to be awake, considering how he regularly sleeps half the day away, so Dream feels guilt in the pit of his stomach. He must've accidentally woken him up.

“ _No, please, anything but that.._ ”

Patches hooks her claws into Dream’s shirt in an attempt to regain his attention, but Dream’s gaze doesn’t leave his phone. George is talking in his sleep again. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. George has accidentally fallen asleep on call plenty of times in the past and Dream has heard many, many things come out of an unconscious George.

But they’ve never sounded like this.

“ _My blue_.”

George’s sleep talking usually made no sense and had to do with food and minecraft more often than not. He was also louder and more monotonous, not soft spoken and frail like he is now.

“ _Don’t take it away.._ ”

“George?” Dream’s heart skips more beats than he would like to admit, but he can’t help the worry that’s beginning to eat away at him from the inside. George doesn’t reply, still heavy in slumber, and when he lets out another pained whimper, Dream raises his voice. “George!”

There’s a soft gasp and frantic shuffling, meaning Dream has successfully woken George up. The blanket makes an unflattering noise as it rubs against the sheets and Dream winces when a loud thud sounds, probably meaning George’s phone had fallen.

“Fuck!” He hears George say and then there’s some more rustling before George speaks again. This time he’s close enough to his phone’s mic for Dream to hear him clearly. “H-Hey?”

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Dream teases while draping an arm over his eyes to block the intensity of the sun. He knows better than to ask about the nightmare, regardless of how curious he is, so he doesn’t say anything else.

“You’re an asshole for waking me up,” George mumbles, seemingly unaware of what had happened a few minutes prior. Although Dream wants to defend himself, he doesn’t want to cause any unwanted memories to resurface, so he opts for something else instead.

“Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out suggestive. It’s supposed to be harmless teasing, a means to change the topic, something George can work with to guide the conversation—but it comes out all wrong. His voice is dangerously low from having just woken up and the soft grunt of disapproval he gives Patches does nothing to help his case.

“I’m gonna expose you,” George says after a pause. His words sound jumbled, a clear indication that he’s flustered, and Dream finds himself pressing onwards without so much as a second thought. 

“You want me exposed?” It takes George a while to get that one. There’s a syllable of apparent confusion that escapes him before he realizes the subtle innuendo.

“You’re gross,” George cringes and there’s a soft smack, which Dream guesses is from him facepalming himself. “Like actually.”

“You love it,” Dream retaliates, stretching his arms over his head. In the distance, Sapnap lets out another inhumane screech; Dream winces. Soundproof walls might definitely be something to consider in the near future.

“What the hell is he doing?” George snorts. Dream realizes then that he’s too aware of the way George hadn’t denied the statement he made earlier. There were easy explanations for that: George didn’t hear him, Sapnap distracted them, George didn’t feel like answering or forgot to. Dream’s mind sends him down the lone tunnel of _well perhaps he does love it._

“Dream?”

As if on cue, Patches mewls by the phone and George snickers at that. “Not the answer I was expecting, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Dream rolls his eyes at that, “Shut up.” He ushers Patches off of the bed and watches as she taps out of his room and into Sapnap’s, eliciting a delighted squeal from him.

“Are you streaming today?”

Dream finds himself snickering in response to George’s question. “Stop laughing and answer me, dickhead.”

The mattress sighs in relief when Dream stands up, freeing it from his weight. “What do _you_ think, George?” The shirt he puts on is gray with a low v-cut, thin and open just enough for Dream to bear the heat.

“Whatever.” George’s accent is thicker when he has an attitude, Dream notes quietly. A string of peculiar noises emit from George’s end of the call and Dream figures that George is getting out of bed as well. “Do you want to join me then? I’m gonna do an early stream today.”

“What?” Dream wheezes in disbelief, glancing at the clock hanging above his PC setup. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” It’s only a quarter past noon, which might make this the earliest stream George has ever done, _if_ he actually pulls through with it. Dream has his reasons to call George’s bluff.

“You don’t think I can do it?”

“I didn’t say _that_ ,” Dream replies, tightening the strings of his sweats so that the waistband hugs tighter where it rests, low on his hips. “It’s just a little bit early, innit, Gogy?”

“That’s the point of an ‘early stream’, yes, _Clay_.” He can hear the smirk in George’s voice.

“What did you just call me?” There’s no actual malice, of course, but there’s still an unspoken rule of not saying Dream’s real name. Though when George does it, Dream doesn’t really find himself minding. It sounds rather nice falling from George’s lips, if Dream's going to allow himself some honesty.

That’s all thanks to the accent, of course. Nothing more.

“Clay,” George repeats fearlessly.

Dream clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “I wouldn’t get too bold if I were you, Georgie.”’

“Oh no, I’m so scared.” George mocks him enthusiastically, ending off with a signature giggle. “Stop acting so tough, Dream. I could totally take you.” Now _that_ is hilarious. Dream ends up laughing so much, he has to curl an arm around his stomach to ease the strain on his abdomen.

“Oh, yeah? Try it.” The odds of George winning a fight against Dream are slim; 1 in 7.5 trillion, if Dream wants to be quirky. There’s simply no way. George, who is glued to his bed and almost half a foot shorter than Dream, who’s been on a _football_ team for crying out loud—did George really think he could win?

“I will as soon as I’m in the states. Prepare to lose, pissbaby.”

The window squeaks as Dream pushes it shut. “I bet 1000 dollars, George,” Dream begins, sifting through the dials of his air conditioner to pick a higher setting, “That I’ll win against you. One handed.” Maybe he’s a little too confident, but Dream’s seen George. Unless George has been going to the gym religiously since the last time they facetimed, there was no way he was stronger than Dream.

Even with the air conditioner at its max settings, the Florida heat begins to grow irritable and Dream decides that wearing sweats was a bad idea, no matter how soft and comfy the fabric is.

His shorts are sprawled over his chair. It would be easy just to grab them and change, so he decides on just that. His thumb swipes on his phone quickly, putting George on speaker, before undoing the knot he made with the strings of his sweats.

“You’re gonna hold me down with only one hand?” Dream hums absentmindedly, hooking his thumbs past the elastic band. “What’re you gonna do to me with the other one then?”

Before Dream can reply, there’s an uncomfortable cough from behind him and Dream whips his head around to find Sapnap standing at his doorway. There’s an unreadable expression on his face, but his eyes travel from Dream’s face to the positioning of Dream’s hands and finally, the phone where George’s heavily misleading words are coming from.

Dream parts his lips to explain but Sapnap raises a hand, “I don’t even want to know.” A howl of laughter from George. “I microwaved hot pockets. Yours is on the kitchen table.” Then, he’s gone.

“ _George!_ ”

“What? I was just asking for clarification.” Dream can hear just how smug George feels and wants nothing more than to take all of that away from him.

“Well, if you really want to know. I’d use it to shut you up,” and then, breathier and barely audible, “I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.”

“I’m not imagining it,” George hisses, but Dream can tell he’s flustered. His cheeks are probably red, a sharp contrast to his pale complexion, and Dream can’t stop himself from wondering if he colors that easily elsewhere too. How much strength would Dream need to apply to leave blossoming hues on George’s body? Probably not too much, George is small compared to him.

Hands. _His_ hands. On George’s face, over his mouth—fingers slipping inside—Dream’s the one wrapped in dangerous, dangerous thoughts.

“Maybe you should,” Dream mutters, too dazed by his own fantasies which have delved way past friendly borders. “Maybe then you’ll stop being such a brat.”

Instead of another scoff, Dream is met with a dial tone. George had hung up on him.

It’s only then that the severity of his thoughts (of his _words_ ) finally begin catching up to Dream. This conversation had been different from the ones they’d shared in the past; Dream had _meant it_ this time.

His phone lights up with a ding.

_Prick._

Dream holds his breath, watching the text bubble intently. He’d gone too far this time. George is mad; he has to be.

_You didn’t win, if that’s what you’re thinking._

Confusion replaces fear. Dream leans closer to the screen, as if George will reply any faster.

_I moved to discord. I’m setting up the stream. Hurry up and join._

Dream sighs in relief, eyeing the black screen of his monitor. He reaches out, tapping the power button with his index finger, and then resumes tugging off his sweats. Warmth licks at the nape of Dream’s neck as he grabs his shorts and carefully slips them on.

_i’ll be there in 5 min, getting food real quick._

George reacts to his message with a thumbs up and Dream heads down to the kitchen where, as Sapnap had promised, a hot pocket waits for him on a paper plate. Sapnap’s a fan of disposable utensils. They’re easy to get rid of and save them the hassle of having to do dishes. Dream can’t argue against that.

“Dude.”

Dream nearly drops the snack when Sapnap’s voice disrupts the otherwise silent quarters. “Fuck you,” he laughs, shaking his head when Sapnap comes into his sight with a boyish grin drawing onto his lips. “What?” He asks, taking a bite out of the hot pocket after. It’s no longer in a state where it can burn his taste buds off so Dream emits a pleased sound to thank Sapnap.

“Is George finally flying over?” Sapnap asks, eyes round and expectant, like a kid at a toy store. Dream nearly chokes on his meal, taken aback by how random Sapnap’s question is.

“ _What?_ ”

“I said is George finally flying over?” Sapnap repeats without hesitation, drumming his knuckles against the granite countertop. “I heard you guys talking about.. whatever weird plans you had.. and that’s only possible if he flies over? Right? So he’s flying over!”

Sometimes, Sapnap’s enthusiasm is cute. Other times, it’s hard to keep up with. This is one of those times.

“I don’t think that’s…” And then he remembers George’s words. _As soon as I’m in the states._ There was no _if,_ it was definite. There was no date either, but it was something, right? It meant George was planning to visit. It might not be soon, but it would happen eventually.

“Fuck, wait.”

The speed at which Dream races back to his room is fast enough to hold him a record. He’s frantic to open discord and when he finally pulls up their server—the dream team’s server—George is waiting for him.

“ _George._ ” He’s exasperated, huffing so hard it almost seems as if he’s never worked out a day in his life.

“ _Dream._ Why are you saying my name like that again?”

“‘As soon as I’m in the states?’ As in-”

George cuts him off with a laugh, but Dream doesn’t understand what’s so funny.

“Took you long enough.”

“George,” Dream is beyond perplexed and words are not his forte when that’s the case. “George, you can’t just _say_ that and not- I don’t know- explain!”

“Well, if you _must_ know,” George begins and from the corner of Dream’s eye, he can see Sapnap’s icon jump to the ‘Online’ category. A second later, there’s a joining noise. “... Well, if you _both_ must know,” George repeats after Sapnap greets them. “Karl’s flying me out for the ‘feraltwt meetup’ you guys planned.”

“What?” Sapnap says on behalf of both him and Dream.

Dream is much, much louder. “ _What?!_ ”

They’ve been planning this for a while now, him and Karl, but George was never mentioned. They’d asked him once in the beginning, but George had said that it was too much work and Dream had never pressed on.

It seems that Karl had.

“But you said the first time..” Dream is dumbfounded. He’s sure that Sapnap and George can hear his loud clicks as he pulls up his private messages with Karl and then the groupchat they’d made for the meet up, but he doesn’t care. He has to get to the bottom of this. George has to be pulling a prank on them.

“Yeah, but Karl wouldn’t leave me alone and—believe it or not—he’s actually quite persuasive.”

“How much money?”

“Sapnap, do you think I’m that easy-”

“Two grand? Three?”

“Five actually.” George is unbelievable, Dream thinks. “And a shoutout on TikTok.” But that’s what Dream likes about him.

“The meetup is the day after Quackity’s flight though. That’s in three days.” George can probably hear the heavy suspicion poisoning Dream's words, but he answers him unhindered.

“Which is why I’m doing a stream today, genius. Then I have lots of time to pack.” His tone is matter-of-fact, making it sound all the more genuine, so Dream gives in and allows himself to hope. He stops scrolling through his messages and relaxes his posture, smiling stupidly at his screen while George’s mic lights up.

“I’ll be in North Carolina a few hours before you two,” George elaborates. Dream frowns at that. “Karl said he and Quackity are going to pick me up.”

“What?” Dream interjects.

That would mean Karl and Quackity would be the first people to see George in America (and vise versa). That didn’t sit right with him.

“No, we’ll pick you up.”

“Did you completely miss the part where I said I’d be there before you guys?”

“So? We’ll just get up earlier.”

“We will?” Sapnap asks.

“We will,” Dream repeats firmly. “We’ll come get you, George.”

“It’s fine, Dream. It’s not like they’re strangers or anything-”

“I _said_ we’ll come get you, George.”

Sapnap’s hum sounds noncommittal, but Dream doesn’t doubt that Sapnap is as excited to meet George. Convincing him to leave at 4am shouldn’t be too hard given that fact (and also the offer to treat him to lunch on the way).

George is quiet, but a second later, Dream hears the swift noise of an iMessage being sent. “Okay,” George pipes up. “I texted Karl. You guys better not be late.”

The weight on Dream’s shoulders falls off, rolling down his back smoothly and then being swept underneath his shadow. He feels less tense and loosens the fists he hadn’t realized he’d curled his hands into. Jealousy, which he reluctantly credits for nipping away at his sanity, soon ebbs away into nothingness and he begins to focus on more important matters, such as: 

_Fuck,_ George is coming to America.

“We wouldn’t _dream_ of it, Georgie,” Sapnap sneers, pun clearly intended. They rush back into shared laughter and Dream momentarily forgets the events that happened earlier in the day.

When his thoughts had gotten ahead of himself, when he’d pictured things past their norm, when he unintentionally blurred the line between friends and something more.

“I’m excited,” Sapnap admits gleefully. “I can’t wait to prove that I’m way taller than you by the way.” Dream can’t help but snort at his friend’s childish priorities.

“Wanna bet on it?” George is quick to challenge.

“This addiction to gambling has to stop,” Dream reprimands, pinching the bridge of his nose. George splutters in shock at that, bringing himself closer to his mic.

“Excuse me? _You_ were the one that made our bet earlier. Not me.”

Right. Their bet. The one they’d met before Dream had starting thinking of-

“Ew. Is this about the weird kinky shit you guys were talking about earlier?” Sometimes, Dream thinks, murder is okay. “I mean I knew you guys were freaky, but I didn’t think you were _that_ freaky.”

And it’s in Sapnap’s best interest to sleep with one eye open while he’s under the same roof as Dream.

“Sapnap, lock your door.” The warning is clear. Dream mutes his mic the second he hears Sapnap’s confused ‘ _what?_ ’ and directs himself to the open bedroom door down the corridor.

“Are you jealous? Poor little Sappy Nappy.” Dream hears George’s relentless teasing as he walks into Sapnap’s room. “Don’t worry, you can join us. We can share.” Sapnap was telling the truth that one stream, Dream concludes upon hearing those words leave George. The oldest of the three definitely did get a lot bolder when Dream wasn’t around.

“Something tells me Dream wouldn’t like that idea,” Sapnap says, turning his head over his shoulder and raising an eyebrow at the blonde man leaning against his door frame. “It might be because he _actually_ walked into my room, but I don’t know, man.”

Dream doesn’t actually have any murderous intentions, of course, but Sapnap does deserve a harsh smack on the back of his head so Dream delivers just that.

“Ouch, sounded like it hurt,” George comments, sounding thoroughly amused instead of concerned. “Don’t worry, it can be our secret.” At first, Dream is confused as to why George is speaking as if he’s not standing right there, but then he realizes: George doesn’t know Sapnap’s headset isn’t turned on.

“Yeah, no thanks, I kinda like my life _not_ being Dream’s punching bag.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.” A brat, Dream reaffirms.

“You’re just saying this because Dream’s too much of a simp to do anything to _you._ That means I take all the heat when he’s mad!”

_Okay, that’s not true,_ Dream tells Sapnap with a half-hearted glare.

He's met with one equally as telling, _yes it is._

“But he’s _hot_ when he’s mad. Don’t you agree?”

That’s a joke. Dream _knows_ it’s a joke. Sapnap’s laughing with his whole chest right now and Dream should be laughing with him, being the insufferable leo that he is, but he can’t.

“I don’t know,” Sapnap answers. “What do you think, Dream?”

George’s words are replaying in Dream’s head like a broken record, so Dream completely misses the chance to answer. By the time remembers what's happening, Sapnap is eyeing him strangely, which makes sense since the silence he’d gotten from Dream was anything _but_ dismissive. 

Thankfully, he’s saved from an awkward conversation by George’s embarrassed squeak. “He can _hear_ me?!”

At the same time, George’s notification for going live pops up on both Dream’s and Sapnap’s phone. “Yeah,” Dream replies as Sapnap navigates to George’s twitch channel on the computer.

George is donning his own merch and his infamous white goggles are perched atop his head. “Oh? Glasses making a comeback?” Dream asks and he can see Sapnap steal a glance at him through his peripheral vision. If Sapnap sees the extra fond smile on Dream’s face, he says nothing of it.

“Just for a bit,” George replies and a few seconds later, Dream can see his lips move on the stream.

“Put them on!” Sapnap chimes in with the encouragement in George’s chat.

  
George shakes his head with a laugh, “No. It looks silly.” His fingers play with the sleeves of his hoodie, tugging on them until his hands disappear completely. It’s a habit Dream’s picked up on; it means George is getting nervous.

“I think you look cute in them,” Dream supplies to ease up George’s nerves and then he moves on. “Wait, is that _the_ GeorgeNotFound merch available on the official GeorgeNotFound shop at GeorgeNotFound dot shop?” 

It’s a practiced routine. He knows George needs the reassurance, but he also knows not to dwindle on something that makes George uncomfortable.

George doesn't miss the beat to slip into talking about his merch, but Dream catches the quick glance he throws at the camera. Dream knows that’s for him. A silent thanks. That’s part of the routine too.

Patches crawls in between him and Sapnap, somehow finding a way onto the latter’s lap and curling up comfortably. It’s surprising how quickly Patches has grown accustomed to Sapnap, despite him being much louder than she prefers.

Sapnap hits the hotkey to mute his mic, running a hand through Patches’ fur. His window is still open and a breeze slips in, rustling the curtains just enough for Dream to see the horizon. In a few days, he’ll be sharing the sight with George. The idea scares him, but not in a bad way.

It scares him into feeling something, a lot of something. To finally have George within arm’s reach, to be able to see him up close, to hear his voice so clearly, they all cause a lurch in Dream’s chest.

But if he’s going to be fair, there’s still the aching fear of a repetition of today’s events—of Dream tripping over his own feet and landing face first in uncharted territory.

“Dream, Sapnap, you guys ready?”

But that boulder is for him to push at on another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We didn't jump right into the kissing because while that's all fun and good, I am an absolute WART about making sure I lead up to it properly. I don't want to overwhelm everyone at the start.
> 
> This chapter was also dialogue heavy and I apologize for that. It's much harder to describe things when they're.. overseas. ;__; It'll loosen up in the upcoming chapters and be more focused on feelings and thoughts!
> 
> Comments are welcome and appreciated! :D


	2. A Sun That Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not just George's arrival that's making Dream nervous. It's not. It's not that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that if Dream or George ever change their mind regarding shipping/fanfiction, I will be taking this fic down.

“You’re dog water? You’re literally dog water!”

Dream tosses his head back, laughing as he watches Sapnap chase down George and miss his last hit by a hair’s breadth. He can hear Sapnap’s frustrated cry in real time and through his headset; it plays a third time when the stream catches up.

George’s lips are pressed into a thin line, trying to hide his grin, and Dream can’t help but smile back. He forgets that he’s supposed to be chasing George too, that is until Sapnap hits his character from the back. “Move, lover boy!”

Dream takes off almost instantaneously, teaming up with Sapnap to corner George by the blaze spawner. “Oh, George,” he sings almost maniacally as George’s username comes into sight.

“C’mere, George!” Sapnap cackles, racing past Dream in a bloodlust frenzy.

There’s no way out of this. Dream’s by the entrance and Sapnap’s closing in quickly, George doesn’t have the time to mine to safety. He’s done for.

“Stop moving!” Sapnap’s frustration grows which each attack of his that George evades.

Dream notices that George is much more agile than last time, but the circumstances make his attempt at survival futile. George is bound to slip up and when he does, Sapnap’s going to kill him.

“Dude, I have to sleep, just die already!” Sapnap’s movements become much more agitated. “Dream! Get him to stop!” George’s avatar faces him and Dream catches the way George raises an eyebrow on stream, provoking him.

“Be good, Georgie” Dream teases. The chat moves at twice its regular speed, just as Dream had expected, and George shakes his head at the screen. 

“Or what?” He challenges after snickering at Sapnap barely missing him again. “Are you gonna make me, Dream?”

The images return. This time, Dream can almost feel tender skin underneath his fingers as they hike higher and higher up on his mind’s rendition of George’s lithe frame. He’s probably just as pale down here, his mind whispers as his fingers push past the hem of George’s shorts.

“Dream, are you fucking _kidding_ me?” Sapnap shouts into his mic and Dream snaps his head up, catching a glimpse of Sapnap’s character breezing past him before it disappears off screen. He’s standing idly in the same room they’d trapped George in a few seconds ago.

“Thanks, Dream!” George chirps happily and Dream finds himself staring as George tosses his arms in the air happily at the sound of Sapnap forfeiting. His sweater rides up just enough for Dream to catch the smallest glimmer of pale skin. The chat speeds off again, spamming requests for screenshots and clips. There’s a sour taste lingering on the tip of Dream’s tongue.

“I’m too tired, whatever.” Sapnap yawns and disconnects from the server. “I can’t believe Dream let you escape.” Dream can tell that Sapnap had expected it though.

“He’s a sim- _s word_ ,” George corrects himself quickly. There’s a lopsided grin on his face as he tries to convince his viewers that he technically didn’t violate Twitch guidelines. Dream takes this moment to disconnect himself from the server as well.

“Hi, George! Your streams make me so happy—aw, thank you—and I was wondering if you would ever consider dating a stan,” George reads the donation out loud. Dream doesn’t notice the frown on his face until his laptop screen dims from inactivity, showing him his own reflection. “I guess,” George answers truthfully. “As long as they’re not super weird and have pictures of me all over their room. Like Dream.” There’s a bark of laughter from both George and Sapnap.

“ _What?_ ” Dream asks, clearly not expecting that answer. Despite his dramatic response, he quietly tabs out of George’s stream, eyes flickering away from the facecam, and opens twitter. It doesn’t help that George’s face is the first thing on his timeline. _Whatever_ , he concedes to himself.

“I’m gonna nap,” Sapnap announces, bidding them both goodbyes before leaving the call, and Dream resumes scrolling through twitter aimlessly. He tunes George out as a flood of donations get read aloud, until there’s one that _demands_ his attention.

“Are you man enough to kiss the homies?” Dream opens up George’s channel again, needing to read the donation for himself. There’s a second part to the question, but George doesn’t read it aloud. It asks—

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be,” George shrugs. “And yes, I would kiss Dream for a thousand dollars.” Dream’s nails dig into the cushioned seat of his chair. “I’d even do it for free.” A smirk appears on George’s face, his eyes meeting with the camera because he _knows_ Dream is watching.

Dream’s mind screams at him to say something, anything. George is going to figure out what’s wrong if Dream doesn’t play along; it’s too clear this time.

“Well, that’s all for the stream today guys!” George announces, seeming unphased. His tongue rolls past his lips and Dream tries not to fixate on how red they’ve become from George’s consistent nipping. “Thank you all for coming!” And just like that, the channel goes offline.

Dream remains quiet, listening to the rhythmic clacks of George’s keyboard, until it comes to a halt and George’s voice finds him.

“Tell me the truth.” Dream doesn’t know what George means by that. His lids flutter shut and he braces himself for the impact that’s about to come. “I got you there, didn’t I? I won this time.” Dream’s eyes crack open again, curiously peeking at George’s icon on discord as if he can see him.

Maybe he gives George too much credit. 

“Talk to you later, Dream.” Dream hears George disconnect before the icon disappears from the voice channel. A text flies through right after.

_I bet you’re not man enough to kiss the homies. ;)_

He _definitely_ gives George too much credit. The taunt is lighthearted, George means to brag about his “victory”, but what he doesn’t know is that Dream is very much open to the idea.

George’s lips on his, pushing and pulling just like the way their arguments go.

Dream is _too_ open to the idea.

_how much?_

_What?_

_how much are you betting?_

George is pushing Dream too far. He’s on a steep ledge and one more blow will topple him over—will send him free falling. 

And below, there’s nothing to catch him.

_You just want to kiss me. Simp._

Dream is teetering and he needs to anchor himself down. He can’t fall, he’s not meant to.

_never said i’d be kissing you. sapnap’s my homie too. karl. quackity._

He pauses. This reply is good. It’s enough to win their little argument.

_wishful thinking, georgie? sounds like you’re the one that wants to kiss me._

His finger hovers over the send button, tempted to see how George would react. He would probably be flustered, Dream imagines, with his sweater paws pressed against his cheeks, trying to will away the rosy color. There would be a scoff of disbelief, followed by a flimsy insult. Dream ignores the way his heart stutters.

Ultimately, he can’t bring himself to send the message so he deletes it. He pretends the idea had never come to him and waits for George’s reply.

_Yeah, but I know you. You wouldn’t kiss them. Just me._

Dream freezes. The text does a number on him, but what follows does more.

_I’m special._

‘ _Does he know?_ ’ Dream pauses, dropping his phone onto his lap so that he can drag his hands down his face. ‘ _Know? Know what?_ ’ Dream asks himself. There’s an overwhelming urge to let the growing shadows in his room consume him.

_I’m your husband until I get my visa, so of course you can only kiss me._

Dream exhales, slouching over and letting his bangs fall over his eyes. ‘ _He doesn’t know_ .’ The reassurance is short-lived because Dream doesn’t know why he’s relieved in the first place. There’s nothing _to_ know, so why does he keep fretting over George learning secrets that don’t exist?

_you’re so weird._

He’s not lying. The thought of kissing George is weird, especially in the context of them being married. It’s weird, yes, but not unwelcome. 

That much, Dream will allow himself to admit.

* * *

The days fly by too quickly for Dream to fully grasp everything that’s happening. It’s the eve of their meetup and he’s got a long drive ahead of him in just four hours, but he can’t sleep.

“Oh my god. There’s so many people,” George mutters into the phone. He’s at the airport, waiting to board his flight. “It’s five in the morning, what’s wrong with them.” Dream rolls his eyes at the irony of that.

“You’re one to talk.” It had been George’s decision to book a flight this early, so there was no use in complaining. However, he did it with the assumption that it’d be less crowded; George isn’t exactly a social butterfly. “You’ll be fine. Just stay on the phone with me, nobody’s going to bother you.”

“Aren’t you tired?” George’s question comes out as a whisper and Dream can tell he’s feeling guilty. George is aware that Dream has to catch up on sleep soon or else he’ll be passed out behind the steering wheel in a few hours, but Dream knows why George isn’t explicitly telling him to go to sleep. It’s because he’s scared and as much as he feels bad for keeping Dream awake, he needs him.

And if George needs him, Dream will be there.

“Me? Tired?” Dream fights off a yawn, disguising it as a laugh. “I’m fine, Gogy. So sweet to hear that you care about me.”

“Shut _up,_ Dream.” Dream can hear the smile in George’s voice.

“If I had a dime for every time I’ve heard that phrase..”

“You’d have one dime if you actually listened,” George interrupts him. That wiggles a chuckle out of Dream, but the silence they’re trying to avoid still follows suit.

There are things Dream has wanted to say—things to help calm his own nerves—but each time he tries to address them, a lock forms around his throat. “I’m excited,” he manages to say through gritted teeth. His eyes land on his suitcase which is packed to the brim with clothes that Sapnap had picked out for him. (It’s a good idea, he convinces himself. He doesn’t know the first thing about fashion sense.)

“Me too,” George agrees and Dream tries to ignore the split second of hesitation. He shouldn’t read too much into it, lest his mind get the best of him and keep him up all night, but he can’t help it. Meeting George is new and new things are frightening.

“It might be easier for you to find Sapnap, but I’ll be wearing a blue shirt. With,” he glances at the outfit hanging in his closet, ready to go for their trip. “- denim jeans.”

“Got it. Keep my eyes peeled for a tall white boy dressed in blue and see if they have a Sapnap with them.” George’s voice sounds muffled. Dream imagines he’s curling in on himself, chin tucked into the hood of his sweater, making him look a lot smaller than he is. “This’ll be my first time seeing you. Other than the hints of your forehead I get each time you video call me.”

Dream inhales sharply at that. His free hand reaches up, nimble fingers carding through tufts of dirty blonde hair. After some thought, he settles for a, “That’s true.” He’s nervous, but he doesn’t know why. It’s not as if George is going to stop being friends with him for how he looks.

But would George still find him hot? Would George stand by what he said on stream the other night? About kissing him?

How would it feel to kiss George, Dream wonders. His fingers reach up, ghosting over his lips. Would it be soft and fleeting like this? Or— He presses down a little harder prying his lips apart and dragging his bottom lip down until it slips back into place. —would it be rough and an invitation for more?

“Dream?” 

Dream nearly drops his phone in surprise. “Yes?” He clears his throat, trying to edge off some of the embarrassment from being caught daydreaming red handed.

“I said I have to go now.” It feels surreal. “I’ll text you when I land, okay?”

George is boarding the plane to meet him. George is going to be with him in a few hours.

“Okay,” Dream confirms. 

The line dies, but Dream feels alive.

His visions grow clearer day by day, to the point where Dream begins to think he’s growing a bit delusional. There are nights where it’s like this, thinking of George’s lips on his, but there are also nights where it’s just the two of them in bed, pinkies hooked because they’re too shy to hold hands just yet.

Dream wonders what it would be like to finally hold George’s hands. There’s no doubt in his mind that his are bigger, mathematical proportions and all that nerd talk, but he wonders if George’s are softer than his. They look softer.

Maybe George is the type to intertwine their fingers together, filling in the gaps tightly, or maybe he’s the type to clasp their palms together, thumbs hooked while the rest of the fingers curl over the edges.

It would be nice to hold George’s hand. Dream decides that now, before he even gets the chance to, because there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s right.

These imaginations keep Dream at bay. He doesn’t want to leave. Reality is less serene; it doesn’t feel like home. 

Even during the day with the sun that peeks through thick clouds, there’s no warmth. 

* * *

It ends up being Sapnap who wakes Dream up instead of it being the other way around. Dream sleeps through his alarm, a consequence of keeping George company until late into the night, and Sapnap seems to already know that despite neither of them telling him.

“I figured,” Sapnap explains, lugging the last suitcase into the trunk of Dream’s car. “George always gets fidgety when he’s heading out. Once, he made me stay on the phone with him while he was at the Doctor’s.”

Dream remembers that. George had actually called him first, but Dream had been busy preparing things for his sister’s birthday. It was his suggestion to call Sapnap and despite being reluctant at first, George had done just that. Afterwards, George had given him an earful about how much he preferred having Dream to talk to in those situations.

It wasn’t that Sapnap was bad at comforting him, it was just that George wasn’t a fan of his.. ‘voodoo shit’, as he so eloquently put it.

“You drive for the first five hours and I’ll take over for the last five?” It’s not really an offer; Sapnap is already making a beeline for the passenger’s seat. “That way you’ll be the one to get off at the airport first since I’ll have to find parking.” Dream knows Sapnap just wants to get some more sleep in first, but he brings up a good point that Dream can’t dispute.

Dream climbs into the driver’s seat, fastening his seatbelt and readjusting his mirrors before leaning back. He’s nervous, that much he’s sure of, with the way his fingers tremble, but it’s too late to back out now. Not that he had any plans to, of course.

“I can’t believe this is actually happening.” Sapnap takes the words out of Dream’s mouth and Dream tosses him a glance as he starts up the car. He’s looking out the window, ripples forming on his white tee as the wind rushes past him. The grin on his face is so wide, it almost takes away from his eye bags _._ Sapnap leans back against his chair, getting ready to forfeit himself to slumber.

“Things are about to change.” 

Dream couldn’t agree more.

It’s all he can think about as he drives past bustling cities and open plains. Everything feels so much more different now that George is going to share his experiences. It’s a new chapter in their lives. The slate is blank, waiting for them to write across it together.

Dream’s train of thoughts travels rather slowly, but each cart holds so much to unpack. Dumped over, it’s a swarm of wishful thinking (a toxic little thing called _hope_ ) and Dream is drowning.

Down the freeway, there’s blotches of trees along the borders. They’re a vibrant green, especially under the intense rays of the sun. George can’t see that, so Dream will have to describe it to him.

The sky is blue, but at sunset, it’s a fiery orange. Dream wants to know how George looks in the golden hour—wants to count the freckles on his face, wants to hear the elated giggle as Dream paints the picture for him.

This excitement—surely, Dream thinks, surely it’s because George is his best friend.

He tosses Sapnap a quick glance. Sapnap is their best friend too, so he should feel the same way. He should feel the jitters in his stomach like Dream does.

Sapnap is still fast asleep, head tilted and pressed against the window, looking calm—too calm—and the exact opposite of how Dream feels. Dream doesn’t understand why Sapnap isn’t nervous.

The car in front of him turns on its brake lights just as the flow of traffic begins to slow down. Dream glances at his GPS with worry, hoping that the delay won’t be too long. Thankfully, it’s estimated not to be. 

(Dream had gone the extra measure of planning to arrive at the airport an hour and a half earlier than George’s landing simply to account for situations like this.)

He laughs to himself, watching the red lights turn on and off every other second as they inch down the highway. George would probably get irritated at that. He’s a patient person, but his patience is reserved for people he cares about, this much Dream knows.

They’d experience this together—experience _red_ together.

Dream hesitates, fingers drumming against his steering wheel as another thought comes to mind.

Do best friends think about experiencing colors together?

His phone dings. It’s loud enough to jostle Sapnap awake and Dream snickers while he watches Sapnap try to understand where they’re at.

“Can you check who that is?” Dream asks, eyes trained on the road once more as the traffic jam finally begins to loosen up. Sapnap grunts and Dream hears him remove his phone from the stand on the window.

“It’s George,” Sapnap announces, voice hoarse from having just woken up. “He says the first flight went safely and now they’re waiting for the second one to take off.” 

Dream nods silently, trying his hardest to switch lanes without picturing how drowsy George must be. He’s probably huddled in his sweater, blinking rapidly to keep himself awake. He’s fresh out of a nap and his first thought is to text _Dream_.

“He also says the annoying child next to him is finally gone, but in her replacement is a weirdo that won’t stop chatting him up.”

Dream slams the breaks, almost hitting the car that races past him.

“What the fuck?” Sapnap breathes out. The car that passed them has a roaring engine and Sapnap doesn’t waste another second to flip them off. “I fucking hate show offs.”

The near-accident was actually Dream’s fault, but he doesn’t mention it.

“Ask him,” Dream rolls his tongue past his lips. “Ask him about the sky. Is it clear there like it is here?”

Sapnap doesn’t respond.

“It’s kind of cloudy.” Dream’s hands tighten their grip on the wheel as George’s voice travels through the speakers. “The sun was out for a bit earlier, but now it’s hiding.”

“Probably scared of your.. ugliness,” Sapnap replies before Dream can, eliciting a soft chuckle out of George.

“Oh it’s _you_.” George fakes a gag. “I thought I was talking to Dream.”

“He’s driving,” Sapnap clarifies. It seems to take another second for him to realize what George had said first. “Wait. _W_ _hat_ ? What do you mean by it’s _me_? Why’d you say it like that?” George laughs at Sapnap’s whiny complaints.

“There’s not a single cloud in sight today,” Dream says after stealing a peek at his window. “That means it’s probably gonna be super hot. You’ll hate it.”

George has never been a fan of the sun. It might be the lack of air conditioners in England or the fact that George is practically nocturnal at this point. Regardless, it makes sense why he’d prefer cloudy days to clear ones.

He’s not bringing this up to warn George for the heat he’s going to face upon arrival though; George is aware of that.

  
  
“I have to go again,” George announces. Sapnap makes an obnoxious smack with his lips, “Muah! Love you, bye!”

“Bye! See you soon, loser. - And thanks, Dream.” Before Dream can force out his own goodbye, Sapnap hangs up.

George has never been a fan of heights. Take offs during planes would be no different, Dream assumes. It’s better to focus on the sky than on the ground, in that case. So long as George was busy finding shapes in the clouds, there was less of a reason for him to worry.

Dream doesn’t know when he became so observant.

But lately, he seems to know more about George than he does about himself.

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want me to wait?” Dream asks as Sapnap pulls the car up to the curb. Sapnap gives him a dead stare.

“How many times do I have to say it’s fine, Clay?” Dream shudders at the use of his real name. It’s not unfamiliar, but not as soothing as George saying it either.

“Look,” Sapnap continues, putting the car in park for a moment. “George said he already landed and he said not to be late. One of us has to go in there and one of us has to park this car.” 

Dream doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

Sapnap reaches over, pressing the button to unlock Dream’s seatbelt. “Just go already,” he groans, shooing at the hunched over blonde man who has somehow grown an attachment to his seat. “Seriously, or else I’m going and you’re gonna have to park this shit.”

Dream opens the car door, tossing Sapnap one more uncertain look before heading out the car. Once the door snaps shut again, Sapnap drives off to look for the parking center.

Terminal 4, Dream reads off the board hanging above him as he nears the revolving door. In front of him is a lady with a sign. Maybe he should’ve brought a sign. If George gets out of baggage claim quicker than Sapnap’s arrival, he’ll have a hard time finding Dream for sure.

The airport is chilly. Dream’s hands try their best to rub away the goosebumps bubbling down his arms, but it’s little to no use. The walls of the airport are tall and covered with glass, allowing for the comfort of the sun, but Dream can’t feel its warmth.

There’s a crowd gathered by the gates, almost piling over the barricade. People are excited to see their loved ones and Dream.. Dream is the same, so he can’t blame them. He just has the leverage of being tall, so there’s no need for him to be pressed against the barrier.

His eyes fly towards the entrance of the airport, waiting for Sapnap to jog in with that classic lost look of his in his eyes. He wasn’t the best when it came to navigation, but he was a hell of a lot better in social situations than Dream.

Dream finds himself caving in, plucking at the loose threads of his ripped denim jeans. He should’ve worn something on top of this shirt. It’s far too cold and the sun is only a nuisance to his eyes. Nothing more.

Sapnap is taking longer than Dream had expected. George could walk out any second now and Dream doesn’t know if he has what it takes to approach him first. George would be lost in this maze of blurry, unknown faces and Dream—well, it would be easy for Dream to spot him. 

Not only because of his height advantage but also because it’s _George_ , how could Dream _not_ see him? (Nowadays, it feels like he’s _all_ Dream sees.)

But he wouldn’t know what to _do._

Would he just stand there? Awkward, shy, not knowing what to say or where to put his hands. Or would he go in for a hug? Familiar, friendly, feeling like home after what seemed like an eternity of helpless waiting.

Dream’s arms hang lifelessly by his sides, fingers twitching with the urge to hold onto something. It’s cold for more reasons than one now.

“Sapnap,” Dream mutters under his breath, tone edged with frustration. The name feels a bit ridiculous to say in public, especially around people who don’t know them. Sure, his voice is a slither above a whisper, but the embarrassment weighs down on him nonetheless. “Hurry the fuck up..”

Locating Sapnap becomes more of a distraction than a job. At least while he’s looking for Sapnap, he doesn’t have to worry about making eye contact with George and having to find a way to say _I’m Dream, sources: dude trust me._

There’s a slight tug to the hem of his shirt as he spots Sapnap’s patch of brunette curls bob in through the revolving doors. “Excuse me,” he mumbles, not having time to entertain the stranger. He needs to find Sapnap before he lands himself in a situation he can’t get out of.

“Blue.”

Dream has no time to register what’s happening. Arms wind around his waist and heat spreads rapidly; from his chest outwards or from the touch inwards, he’s not sure.

“Clay.” The fire is definitely starting by his waist. “It’s you.” George’s arms are tight, secure; Dream feels lightheaded.

By the time he’s ready to turn around and hug George (so tight he might break him), George is pulling away with a shy smile on his face. His hands are already tugging down the sleeves of his hoodie and Dream feels a lot fainter, if even possible.

“How did you know?” He asks, breathless and inches away from scooping George into his arms.

“I just did,” George shrugs, tilting his head up so he can finally look Dream in the eyes. Dream feels George’s sheathed palm press against his cheek. The touch is meant to be fleeting, he can tell, but George lingers for longer than either of them expect.

As if he’s scared someone’s going to take Dream away.

“Tall. Blonde, somewhat. Green eyes,” George mutters. “To be fair, they’re yellow to me, but you said they were green.”

Dream lets out a wheezed chuckle at that, lungs gasping for air. It feels much, much more real now. “You’re such an idiot,” he mutters, full of mirth. George’s smile is playful, but before he has a chance to verbally reply, Sapnap yanks him away from Dream and into his own arms.

“Dude!” He lands several pats down George’s back. “It’s you! You’re here!” They pull away and Sapnap gives George a judgemental once over. “Weird taste in fashion, as expected.”

“Fuck off,” George laughs, pushing at Sapnap’s chest with his hand. “You’re one to talk with your stupid gray shirt. It’s so bland.”

“It’s red,” Sapnap lies, mischievous to a harmful degree.

Dream frowns, “No, it’s not. Stop that.” He doesn’t know why he says it with such heavy distaste when it’s clear George isn’t upset. Sapnap catches on, eyeing him with a blank stare that says much more than any look he’s given Dream before.

“Where’s the car?”

Dream and Sapnap break eye contact, both of them zeroing in on George. In the short time that they were distracted, George’s absentminded fiddling had led to him creating a bow tie with his hoodie strings. Dream feels the need to take a picture.

“In the parking lot,” Sapnap answers, turning around swiftly. “Follow me, boys.”

The walk back is silent for the most part. Sapnap is busy trying to remember the directions and George is in awe of his surroundings. Dream doesn’t think airports in America are much different than those in England, but George’s eyes almost sparkle with delight so he doesn’t say anything. That is until they face the harsh humidity of the southern air.

“You might wanna take your hoodie off,” Dream mumbles, scratching the nape of his neck. He doesn’t spare George a glance, no matter how much he wants to. He’s stolen enough glances already; it’s borderline obsessive.

“I don’t have anything underneath,” George replies. Dream inhales sharply, tipping his head up and looking anywhere but straight ahead because then he can see George through the corner of his eyes.

Don’t think too deep, _don’t_ _think too deep,_ he repeats it enough for it to be his personal mantra.

“I was just joking.” Dream runs a hand through his hair at George’s confession. “Why are you so nervous around me, Dream?” George is being impish for sure, but there’s truth to his question. He knows Dream is nervous, but he’s trying to lighten the mood up—to cut through the awkward tension lying in between them.

Neither of them know the reason behind Dream’s silence.

“I’m not nervous,” Dream lies, forcing himself to meet George’s gaze so that he can sell the act. George rolls his eyes, clearly not believing a single word that leaves Dream’s mouth. “Okay, maybe a little,” Dream corrects. “But only because you’re so pretty.”

Now it’s George’s turn to be stunned into silence.

“What’s wrong with you?” He says out of reflex when he can finally form the words. There’s a smile on his face, but he doesn’t give Dream the satisfaction of seeing it for too long.

“Can we save this for later?” Sapnap pleads, unlocking the trunk of the car so that they can shove George’s luggage in there with the rest. “Preferably when I’m not around to hear it.”

“It’s a jokey joke,” George defends, arms folding over his chest.

“A running one,” Sapnap scoffs, hopping into the driver’s seat before Dream can. This confuses Dream because they had originally planned for him to be the one driving for the rest of the trip. “I’m beginning to think it’s not a joke anymore.”

“You’re weird,” George retaliates.

Dream hovers awkwardly by the door of the passenger’s seat. “Just sit in the back with him already,” Sapnap snorts, nodding his head to where George is seated in the backseat. George pats the space next to him, welcoming and not at all flustered like he was a second ago.

“Come sit with your bestie, Dream,” George teases. Dream almost calls shotgun again. _Almost._

When they’re all finally seated in the car, Sapnap starts up the engine and Dream hears a sigh of relief leaving George when the air conditioner begins to stir to life. “Neither of you get the aux cord because your music taste sucks,” Sapnap states bluntly, scrolling through his Spotify playlist.

Behind him, George and Dream sit quietly, occupied by their individual thoughts. Dream tries not to think about how close George’s hands are to his. He tries not to return to the thoughts about holding his hand. He tries not to reach out and hook his pink overy George’s, a tiny but meaningful touch; one that voices more of his thoughts than he can currently comprehend.

“This is pretty cool,” George says after Sapnap has finally begun driving. The latter is too busy jamming out to his songs to hear him, but Dream does.

“Yeah, it is,” he agrees wholeheartedly.

George turns to face him and in that moment, when he smiles so genuinely with his eyes formed into perfect crescents, Dream begins to understand more about himself than he wants to.

The sun creeps in through the windows, beating down on the back of Dream’s neck, but the warmth he feels is from something entirely different.

George’s focus returns to the passing cars outside.

But Dream, _Dream_ —he burns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George is in America, dudududu.
> 
> The next chapter will most likely be where the actual bulk of the plot starts to take off. These two chapters.. treat them like somewhat of a preface, I guess? Actually, the majority of the next chapter might Also feel like an intro. I don't Know-- We'll see as we move along!
> 
> I've been writing a lot more than I initially expected per chapter, so that might move things along quicker. I'm hoping to finish most of this before uni work catches up to me so that I don't have people waiting too long. But I will mention delays as they come, if needed!
> 
> Thank you all for reading this far and again, comments are welcome and appreciated! :D I love hearing everyone's thoughts.
> 
> P.S. If you guys saw me fuck up my notes earlier, no you did Not. (IT'S 3AM FOR ME I'M SORRRYYY.)


	3. Reborn in Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even while knowing that the waters are treacherous, Dream will dive headfirst if George leads him to them. All the nightmares that lurk underneath the beguiling, calm surface, are nothing compared to the aches with which his heart still yearns.
> 
> Love is the most challenging of all obstacles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same old, same old. If Dream or George ever change their mind regarding shipping/fanfiction, I will be taking this fic down.
> 
> (Oh my god this is much longer than the other chapters... I did not expect that. Hopefully it makes up for the wait.)

Meeting Karl and Alex is an experience to say the least. Karl wastes no time dragging them all into a group hug, pointing out that they can barely see Alex’s height. Sapnap laughs at that, knocking his head fondly against Karl’s.

Normally, Dream would join in on the laughter too, but he’s too focused on the way George is pressed up beside him, face squished against Dream’s chest. Karl’s arms aren’t long enough to reach around all of them, so naturally the circle is tight fit.

“Ow, you’re hurting me,” George whines, yanking his head back when they’re granted their freedom. The pin sewn onto Dream’s shirt has left an indent on George’s cheek and Dream instinctively reaches out, brushing his thumb over the mark. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, trying to make it up to George with soothing touches and George winces, but doesn’t move away. Their moment is short-lived. 

“We’ve got enough beds for everyone,” Karl applauds himself, gesturing down the wide hallway that they stand at the edge of. “But not enough rooms, so pick your roommates.”

Alex is quick to call dibs on the bigger room and Sapnap shares his interests with the same amount of eagerness. Dream watches them race off into the room, leaving the rest of them in the dust.

“Well,” Karl says, making finger guns at the two remaining guests. “Knock yourselves out! I’ll let you guys unpack for a bit and then we’ll have dinner downstairs. I ordered pizza!” Dream finds himself staring at Karl’s retreating figure until he’s completely out of sight, disappearing into his own room.

“Come on then,” George mumbles, leading the way to the room far down the hallway. Dream follows a few steps behind, not wanting to seem too pushy, and his eyes wander around to take in the decorations that liven up the place.

Once they reach the room, the first thing Dream notices is that there _are_ two beds. Karl didn’t lie about that, thankfully. George claims the one near the door, leaving Dream to occupy the one by the window. He assumes it’s because the sun will irritate him quicker and George is a _huge_ fan of sleeping.

“I’m kinda glad you’re my roommate,” George announces, opening his suitcase and folding some of the clothes into the empty drawers available for them. “Alex and Nick are super loud at night.”

“Real names?” Dream asks, grinning lopsidedly at the sudden switch. He’s too busy staring at George to organize his own clothes.

George shrugs, “I don’t want them to think we’re only here on business terms.” It’s a good point, Dream concedes.

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if they came barging in here, demanding us to stream with them at strange hours.” Dream can practically _hear_ Alex’s voice already, begging George to wake up and join him on GTA. Same with Sapnap and dragging him out of bed to play CS:GO.

George scoffs, flopping onto the bed when he deems that he has unpacked enough. “I’m going to flip them off and go back to bed.”

Dream rolls his eyes at that. “They’re just going to carry you out.”

“As if,” George mumbles, voice muffled by the pillow his face is pressed into. 

“Really, George?” A laugh leaves Dream as he tosses the smaller man a glance, “You’re tiny and you weigh nothing. I could pick you up with one hand if I wanted to.”

“Again with this one hand crap,” George huffs, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “Try me then, if you’re so sure.”

Dream stills at the challenge. There’s a familiar feeling that stirs at the pit of his stomach, prompting the twitch in his fingers. Slowly, his eyes crawl up George’s frame and he imagines his hands following in the same path. George isn’t looking at him, too busy picking at his fingernails.

That won’t do.

Dream stands up, walking over to George, who only realizes he’s standing there when a shadow casts over him. 

“What?” George asks, looking up at Dream through his lashes. Dream’s breath hitches and he asks himself the same question: _What? What is he doing?_

“One hand,” Dream repeats, moving his left arm behind his back. His knee touches the bed, creating a soft dip in the blanket, and George leans back. 

“Are you serious?” Dream hears George ask and he watches as his friend tries to rearrange his positioning. George’s hands land behind him, propping his body up as Dream leans in closer and closer.

“No,” George shakes his head. Dream latches his free hand onto George’s left wrist and takes away the mobility of his dominant arm, causing George to flail pathetically. “Dream,” George warns, but given their current circumstances, Dream doesn’t see him as much of a threat. 

(To be honest, he never was.)

George scoots further up the bed, but Dream’s grip on his wrist gets stronger until it’s borderline bruising. “Arse,” he hears George mutter under his breath. There’s a moment where they both remain completely still and Dream begins to think George has given up already, but the second he loosens his hold, George twists his wrist. He grabs onto Dream’s forearm and yanks him forward before throwing his left leg over Dream’s waist and flipping them over until he’s got the taller man pinned underneath him.

_“Ha!”_ George triumphs with a shit-eating grin. He’s so close that his fringe tickles Dream’s forehead. If Dream wanted to, he could nudge his head forward and their lips would touch; it was close enough to seem accidental.

Being a Leo means that Dream is competitive and therefore he’s not going to go down without a fight. 

“Cute,” he sneers and relishes the flicker of fear in George’s eyes. His legs spread, knocking aside George’s knees until he falls flush against Dream and the rest is history.

Dream easily flips them over and manages to get both of George’s wrists in one hand, pinning them above his head in a display of strength. “Ha,” Dream mimics, blowing a puff of air at George’s face and smiling affectionately when George squeezes his eyes shut and scrunches up his nose. It really is fascinating how Dream is the younger one between the two of them and by three years at that.

“Get off of me, you oaf,” George groans, wiggling underneath Dream but being unable to free himself in the slightest. Much to his distaste, his struggles only heighten Dream’s pride.

Dream shakes his head at George’s order, “Nah, don’t think I will.” Now that he’s proved to George that pinning him with one hand is easy work, Dream frees his left arm. “What’s wrong, _Georgie?_ Didn’t you say you could take me?”

George freezes underneath him, shifting his gaze so that it’s no longer meeting Dream’s, and Dream dares to cup George’s chin with his left hand. “Oh, c’mon now,” he whispers, tipping George’s head up to get the brunet to look at him. It doesn’t work. George’s cheeks are flushed pink from humiliation and his lower lip is caught between his rows of teeth.

_“George,”_ Dream drops an octave without meaning to and he drawls out the name. He presses his forehead against George’s and does his best not to brush their noses against each other (because only God knows the amount of self-restraint he would have left). 

George gives in, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. “What, Clay?”

“I wouldn’t be speaking with an attitude if I were you,” Dream mumbles. He’s about to say something else, something a little dangerous, but someone clears their throat behind him.

“Again?” Sapnap asks when Dream tosses a glance over his shoulder. Both of Sapnap’s hands are raised, covering Karl’s and Alex’s eyes. Karl tugs down Sapnap’s arm just a bit, peeking at the scene unfolding in front of them, but Alex uncharacteristically remains silent.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Dream tries and in the split second that he’s distracted, George shoves him away. It looks incriminating, the way George’s sweater is hiked up and his cheeks are burning red. To make matters worse, George has worried his lip to the point where it’s swollen and on the verge of breaking. 

“Right,” Sapnap doesn’t sound like he believes a single word coming out of Dream’s mouth. George stands up and rushes past the trio blockading the door. Dream is confused as to where exactly George is headed because Karl hasn’t shown them around the house at all, but he doesn’t have the chance to ask because Sapnap begins to interrogate him.

“Is there something going on between you two that we should know?” Sapnap raises an eyebrow, unamused. Dream shakes his head, trying to play it off as naturally as possible.

“Made a bet to see who was stronger.”

Sapnap squints at that, “Why would George bet on that? You’re clearly stronger.” Dream shrugs and scratches the nape of his neck awkwardly. 

“You know George. He’s stubborn.” That seems to sell the story and Sapnap nods off in somewhat of an agreement. 

Alex speaks next, “I thought it was all for show. I didn’t know you guys were actually together.”

“What the fuck, Alex?” Dream feels bewildered at just how far Alex is reaching with that conclusion. Then he reasons that given what they just saw without context, the assumption made _some_ sense. Not a lot, but some.

“No, no, no,” Dream shakes his head and forms an ‘x’ over his chest with his arms. “No _way._ George and I are just best friends. You’ve never wrestled with your best friends?” Dream shoots a question back to try and change the direction of the conversation. 

Karl falls for it, thankfully. “Hey, Alex, I’ll bet you 50 bucks that I can beat you.”

“Karl, I swear to fucking god. Do _not_ fucking touch me,” Alex warns, taking a step back into the hallway and bumping into George in the process. “Ow, George. Dude, I thought you were colorblind not _blind_ blind.”

“ _You’re_ the one that walked into _me!”_ George squeaks, affronted by the accusation. “Karl, I’m betting 20 on you, don’t let me down.” It’s in his nature to be petty. 

“Say no more!” Karl exclaims, racing after Alex who has already taken off. They’re long gone in matter of seconds.

Sapnap mumbles something quietly and Dream leans forward, “What’d you say?” He gets a dull stare in return. 

“I said,” Sapnap says, “I need new friends.”

“You don’t mean that,” George pouts at the joke and Sapnap fakes a gag at the sight. 

“Oh, I do,” Sapnap backs out of the room with his hands raised in exasperation. “I definitely do!”

George and Dream laugh as Sapnap departs and Dream scurries off of George’s bed when he realizes that he hasn’t moved out of the position George had left him in. “You know,” George begins as Dream returns to his side of the room. “I thought he was gonna be the most chaotic one out of all of us.”

“True, he is the youngest,” Dream agrees and then peeks out the window just in time to see Karl tackle Alex onto the ground in their backyard. Sapnap walks into the scene a little bit after, phone at hand to record the stupidity on display. “I think he’s just shy,” Dream reasons. 

“He’ll open up.” 

Alex flops onto the floor in defeat and Karl looks up, grinning mischievously at Sapnap who puts away his phone and slowly walks backwards. Karl is quicker, pouncing onto Sapnap before he has the chance to escape and sending them both tumbling onto the grass as well. 

“Karl’s good at getting him to do that.”

The sun is beginning to set, Dream notices. It’s hanging just above the horizon now, encased by splashes of red, orange, and yellow. Dream wonders what it looks like through George’s eyes. “Sunset,” he announces and George quietly draws up next to him. The fleeting touch of George’s hand brushing against his immediately distracts Dream.

“Everyone says the sunset is beautiful.” George lifts a hand, slender fingers softly pressing against the glass. It seems longing. “I don’t really understand it,” George sighs. Dream knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t resist stealing a glance at George. The sight punches Dream in the gut before he even realizes what’s happening.

This is what he’s been picturing in his head for so long. _This:_ George’s dark eyes turning a lighter shade of brown, George’s pale skin dancing in the orange and red hues, George’s freckles becoming apparent enough to mirror constellations; everything about George in the golden hour is ethereal. 

His imagination had never done this reality justice.

Dream can’t tear his eyes away from George and George catches him staring, the corners of his lips quirking upwards shyly. “Why are you looking at me like that?” George asks, laughing to ease up the awkwardness that rests between them. 

_Because you’re beautiful. You’re unreal. You’re everything Heaven’s missing out on._

“Eyelash,” Dream lies, reaching up to brush his thumb over George’s cheekbone. He doesn’t expect George to close his eyes and lean into the touch. The tips of George’s long, curled lashes kiss the pad of Dream’s finger and Dream uses every ounce of self-control he has left to will his hand away. 

(Before it ventures places it shouldn’t.)

“Did you get it?” Dream thinks it's unfair for George to look up at him through his lashes like that. His mind rockets into the gutter, picturing what other situations George would be in to give Dream that same look. Most of them circle back to George on his knees; it’s sinful. 

He pretends to flick away the imaginary lash he had swept off of George’s face. “All done,” he says and then turns around, heading for the door. He doesn’t bother waiting for George, only calling out to him over his shoulder. “Come on, they’re gonna think something’s up if we don’t go join them.” George is a step behind him soon enough.

“Boys!” Karl calls out when he sees them descend down the flight of stairs. “So glad you could join us! I’m warming up the pizza.” His hair is sticking up in weird directions and there’s a stubborn leaf clinging to his bangs. Dream is about to inform him on the matter, but Alex and Sapnap both bring a finger up to their lips, effectively shushing him. 

George sits down on the empty chair next to Alex, earning him a half-assed insult, and Dream sits beside Sapnap who slides over a cup of water. 

“Thanks,” Dream says, finishing it in one go. His throat is a lot drier than he remembers it being, but he knows why that’s the case. Across the table, George smiles victoriously and pushes Alex out of his chair. 

“Loser,” George snickers after sticking his tongue out childishly. His eyes are full of mirth, much like Alex’s, although the latter tries to play it off with a glare. 

“Dickhead,” Alex responds, taking his seat once again. Karl turns around, sliding the box of pizza to the middle of the table before sitting on the other side of Dream. 

“Settle down, settle down,” he says and then passes out the plates as well. Dream helps him reach the other side of the table, jolting when George’s fingers brush over his own. George gives him a look, but it’s more playful than suspicious, much to Dream’s relief.

“We should play a game,” Sapnap suggests, looking around the table to see if anyone agrees with him. He gets slow nods in response and an offhand comment from Alex. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Ironically, Alex’s mouth is also full, but Dream realizes that that must be the joke.

“Truth or dare?” Karl giggles in a way that sounds more evil than cute, but Dream doesn’t miss the way Sapnap’s eyes droop at the sides, expressing endearment. “We can vlog it.”

“Camera shy,” Dream reminds them, casting his gaze on his hands out of guilt. Sapnap nudges his shoulder with his own to silently reassure him and Karl dismisses recording the session. 

“We can film other stuff,” George says, twirling his cup around on the granite countertop. “Let’s keep tonight to just the five of us.” 

Dream knows how eager George is to record anything and almost everything. With their distance being overseas, it would make sense for George to want to save as much as possible; who knows when he’d be able to come back, after all. However, George’s nature is to be selfless. Dream knows George is not jumping at the gun to prop up his camera because Dream is uncomfortable _and_ because he doesn’t want Dream to feel left out. It’s common courtesy when it comes to friendship, really, but Dream still finds himself feeling a way he shouldn’t.

(Seriously, Dream has never wanted to praise human decency so badly.)

These emotions have definitely not settled in overnight. They’ve been bottled up for a while and Dream doesn’t know when he knocked the cap off, but he did and now everything is spilling—it’s pouring—and it takes all of Dream’s power to seal it back up.

“Sounds good to me,” Alex chirps, taking another big bite out of the slice of pizza he’s munching on. It’s his second slice which, to Dream, means he eats slow. Dream is on his fourth slice, the same as Sapnap, and Karl is on his third.

George finishes his first slice. “I’m full,” he announces with an uncharismatic burp. The rest of them gawk at him. “What?”

“No, you’re not,” Dream argues, shoving another slice in George’s face. “You haven’t eaten anything yet.”

“I ate on my flight here,” George corrects, swatting away Dream’s hand. The taller man is persistent, staring at George with a concerned pout. He’s not going to force George to eat of course, but it doesn’t mean he can’t worry.

“You’re telling me you’re passing on American pizza,” Karl says, swallowing the bite in his mouth before frowning in George’s direction. “For airplane food.”

“Bonkers,” Sapnap snorts and then wipes the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I always knew you were a weirdo, but this is a new low even for you.”

George rolls his eyes, “Whatever.” He’s got half a smirk tugged on his lips and Dream gets so carried away with staring that he doesn’t realize the pizza slice he’s holding is dripping cheese onto the table.

* * *

“Okay, rule number one: no dares that are career jeopardizing,” Karl outlines. If he’s staring directly at Alex, nobody says anything of it.

Other than Alex of course. “Daring someone to jump into the pool butt naked is _not_ career jeopardizing.”

“And when a stalker takes a photo and uploads it, then what?” Karl squints, but it’s basically a glare.

“Say it’s photoshop, easy.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna try it? I’ll take a photo of y—”

“Can we _please_ get back to the game,” Sapnap groans. Dream and George are sat on either side of him, both leaning onto the youngest man for support when they burst out into hysterics.

Alex grabs the quarter-full water bottle placed in the middle of the circle, using it as a microphone. “Dream, truth or dare?” There’s something in the way he grins that has Dream’s flight or fight instincts kicking in.

“You didn’t even spin the bottle,” he points out, concealing his nerves with a chuckle and a facade of nonchalance. You can never feel too safe around Alex (because chances are: you aren’t).

“I’m setting an example.”

“Just spin the bottle,” George steps in and reaches over to flick Alex in the knee.

“One day I’m gonna ‘flinch’ and accidentally roundhouse kick you back to Europe,” Alex mumbles, eliciting a laugh from George. “But fine, party poopers.” He places the bottle back down and gives it a good twirl.

The bottle spins and spins and spins until it finally lands on Sapnap. “Truth or dare?” Alex asks, an infamous giggle at the end of his question.

“Da-” Alex nearly jumps out of his seat in excitement. “Nevermind, truth.”

“What the fuck? Alright, motherfucker, alright-listen here buddy.” Harboring the blandest poker face he can manage, Alex heaves out a sigh. “Whatever, I don’t even care! Who’s your favorite.. I don’t fucking know.. youtuber that doesn’t do minecraft?”

“Lame,” Dream snorts. Alex flips him off without hesitation.

“Uh,” Sapnap leans back, resting his weight on his hands. “Karl?”

“Karl literally streamed Tales From the SMP two days ago.” George stares at Sapnap incredulously, nudging his side with an elbow. “Say someone else, loser.”

“Fine, Mr. Beast,” Sapnap shrugs, reaching over to spin the bottle. “Because Karl’s in his videos.” When he laughs, Dream is the only one to join him. George spares him a chuckle, but Alex remains vaguely unamused and Karl is busy picking at a lint on his sweater.

“Dream!” Sapnap rejoices as the bottle stops, pointing at his best friend who is hunched over in defeat. “Truth or dare?”

“Aw, I wanted to ask Dream.” Alex’s whining is to be expected; his goal—Dream thinks—is to make Dream’s life miserable.

“Dare,” Dream might lose his dignity tonight, but he knows Sapnap won’t push him too far. At least not on the first night.

“I dare you to give me your mom’s number.”

“You already _have_ my mom’s number,” Dream reminds him, scoffing at the failed joke.

“Give it to me then!” Karl and Alex shout at the same time, sparing each other a glare as if they were rivals. “No, _me,_ ” they both argue.

“Amazing,” George says, leaning over to look at Dream with a raised eyebrow. “They’re fighting in sync. Your mom has magical powers Dream.”

“Oh yeah, of course _you’d_ know, George,” Sapnap jokes, earning a concerned _‘what?!’_ from Dream. “Give it to both of them then, Dream.”

For a second, Dream stares really hard at the both of them. Karl’s hands are clasped together and he’s got that lonesome puppy dog look on his face. Alex, on the other hand, is smirking with his eyebrows raised, resembling the Devil reincarnation in every way.

“Absolutely not,” Dream decides.

“What? Don’t chicken out!” Alex persists, lightly tapping Karl on the arm for backup. Karl doesn’t get the memo. “Call him a pussy.”

“Pussy!”

Dream pinches the bridge of his nose and then reluctantly ( _very_ reluctantly) shares her contact information with both of them. “Only for emergencies,” he emphasizes. With how giddy Karl and Alex look, he knows that his rule is going to go ignored.

While they’re busy drafting messages to his mom, Dream spins the bottle. It lands on Karl, who chooses ‘dare’ without hesitation. “I dare you to..” Dream trails off, unsure what direction him or the game is headed. There are eyes on him, all pairs except one. Sapnap is playing with the hem of his shorts absentmindedly.

“Let Alex tweet something off your account.”

“Yes!” Alex shouts, practically flinging himself onto Karl once the taller man pulls out his phone with a heavy sigh. Karl stares at Dream with a blank expression on his face as he hands over his dignity and pride to Alex. 

“Sapnap, help me with this,” Alex says, scooting over and knocking George aside. Dream watches as George’s lips part, complaint hanging on the tip of his tongue, and as they close when George decides Alex isn’t worth his time.

“Wait, I wanna make sure it’s not horrific,” Karl mumbles, gesturing at Dream to switch seats with him. Dream nods, wiggling out of Karl’s way and then sliding himself over to where his friend was previously seated. “Career-jeopardizing,” Karl comments, forcing a pout out of both Alex and Sapnap who then brainstorm for new ideas.

“Scale of 1 to 10,” George elbows Dream gently and then nods his head in the trio’s direction. “How bad do you think it’s gonna be?”

“Alex is gonna push forward to an 11 but Karl is gonna whine for a 6 and Nick is gonna compromise with a..8.” Dream’s hunch is based purely on Alex and Karl playfully arguing while Nick nudges them away from each other before they end up in another impromptu wrestling match. “Your bet?”

Dream glances over. George is already facing him. “9,” the brit whispers, a cheeky grin on his face.

And for a minute, it feels as if it’s just the two of them. George looking up at Dream while they quietly stare at each other, matching visages full of glee. 

Dream can allow himself to enjoy this. 

_“Ayo,”_ Karl begins to read aloud, grabbing everyone’s attention. (If it takes a little longer to get ahold of Dream, it’s definitely not because he watches George’s lashes flutter in confusion). _“Why is George’s mom kinda…_ and then a picture of me doing my signature pose.”

“Why do you guys feel the need to include me in everything?” George groans, tossing his head back in frustration. Dream doesn’t know why he has such a strong urge to rake his eyes down the expanse of George’s throat. Pale and inviting.

“That is not true,” Sapnap says with a shake of his head and Alex makes a noise of agreement. Next to them, Karl rolls around in embarrassment from the notifications that flood in from his recent tweet.

“It _is_ true!” George accuses, snapping his head back down to look at them with a half-assed glare. “Like during jackbox, it’s always George this or Gogy that.” He’s only met with more disagreement, but Dream knows that George is right.

“Maybe once or twice,” Alex surrenders, hiding the confession underneath a cough. He’s got a boyish grin on his face, like he always does, and George can’t stay mad.

“Okay, my turn,” Karl sits up once he’s gone through all five stages of grief, reaching acceptance with a broken will. The bottle spins and spins and _spins—_ God, Dream thinks, if Karl can give the bottle this heavy of a spin, he definitely did win against Alex in wrestling.

“George!” Karl squeals in excitement, almost toppling over as he engulfs George in an excited hug. Dream makes space for them when Karl leans in, speaking in a hushed tone as if they were sharing a secret. Everyone can still hear him. 

“Tell us about your first kiss. It can be either a truth or dare if you think about it so—and you _always_ dodge this one, dude!”

“Um,” George laughs, shoving Karl away with a grimace. “No,” he says firmly, not looking to budge. Karl doesn’t let him off the hook easily.

“What do you mean _no?_ That’s not in the rules, nimrod.”

“No means no,” George emphasizes and Sapnap snorts from across the circle. Alex straightens his posture and then dips his head down politely in George’s direction. 

“Will you please reconsider?” It earns him a punch on the arm from Sapnap, but they both laugh it off.

“He said he’s never kissed anyone,” Sapnap mentions, leaning back to give George a skeptic stink eye. “I doubt that’s still true. If it even was in the first place.” Dream frowns a bit at that. George wouldn’t lie about something like that, would he?

“None of your business,” George mumbles, playing with the sleeves of his shirt. It sets off alarms in Dream’s head and as much as he wants to know the answer himself, he knows better than to push.

“Loosen up on him guys,” Dream says, playing his concern off with a chuckle. “Ask him something else. You sound like one of his fangirls donating to see if their pure little Gogy is still on the market.”

“Pure?” George repeats with a sharp laugh and his eyes meet Dream’s for a quick second. There’s something unreadable in his expression that has Dream looking down at his lap, unable to process words. 

“Yeah, ask me something else,” George moves on. There’s a huddled discussion between Karl, Alex, and Sapnap. Dream feels a bit excluded, but he supposes it’s because he’s a bit _too_ protective of George. 

He doesn’t say anything. Letting the troublemakers have their way once in a while shouldn’t be too horrible. Right?

“Alright, no homo, but name one thing you like about all of us,” Sapnap says once the trio disperses. They all have their phones out, ready to save this moment for blackmail history.

“All of you? That’s hard,” George jokes, threading his eyebrows together to seem deep in thought. “Sapnap,” he begins, shaking his head a bit as if he can’t think of anything. “You’re.. not afraid to speak your mind. I respect that.”

Sapnap goes a bit giddy, obviously not expecting George to actually go through with the plan. Karl nudges him over, sitting directly in front of George with a grin so wide it’s a bit creepy.

“Karl, you give good hugs and put a lot of effort into your streams,” George shrugs and swiftly dodges the long arms that shoot out to grab him. “Nice sweater, by the way.” Karl hums in gratitude and then promptly scoots over for Alex.

“Big Q,” George purses his lips together. Alex is almost shaking with excitement, mumbling a mantra of _‘let’s go’_ s. “You’re.. not dog water today.” The smile on Alex’s face drops, drawing a laugh out of Dream.

“Seriously? Alright,” Alex says, rolling his eyes with no malice. “Alright, very funny, George. Haha, so funny. What a comedian, really. World class.”

George is busy dying in a fit of giggles to respond properly at first but when he finally calms down, he seeks for forgiveness. “I’m joking! I’m joking. You’re very loud but it’s nice. Welcoming and fresh.. makes people feel safe. You never make anyone feel left out.” 

Alex is evidently taken aback. He pockets his phone and doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

And then, very meekly, “I love you.” He’s smiling genuinely. It’s a smile that doesn’t falter even when George shies away from saying it back to him.

“Now for you,” George feigns exhaustion, fluttering his eyes shut. Dream retaliates by reaching out and grabbing George’s hips, turning the smaller man to face him. George yelps, hooking his fingers into Dream’s shirt despite only being moved a centimeter or two. “Jeez, I’m getting to it! Patience!”

In the background, Sapnap scoffs. Dream chooses to ignore it. He wants to hear what George has to say more than anything.

“I appreciate you,” George smiles, avoiding eye contact narrowly. “You know when you send those long messages during like.. thanksgiving or New Year’s?” Dream nods slowly. George can’t see that, but they continue nonetheless. “.. I always reply with something short and simple, but that’s because I get nervous. You mean a lot to me, I hope you know that. I couldn’t have gotten where I am without you—I wouldn’t even be here.. _here_ without you.”

George splays his fingers across his thigh and Dream can tell he’s trying to find something to distract himself from his nerves. His cheeks and ears are cherry red by now, but Dream spares him from teasing and so do the others. For the moment, at least.

“You’re a great friend. You’re always there for me.. when I had that nightmare the other night, it meant a lot that you-,” George gestures awkwardly with his hands and Dream finds it endearing. 

“-stayed up with me. Made sure I was okay. You do all these little things and I notice, I do. I don’t know how to voice my thoughts and feelings explicitly because I’m awkward but..”

There’s a pause, almost like George is contemplating if he should continue or not. Dream prays for the former.

“I love you, Clay.”

This is not good, this is _not good._

Dream feels the arrow puncture his chest and ram itself into his heart. On the tail end is a slip with George’s name; the ink is golden and it drips, mixing with the feelings that pour from Dream’s heart. 

How can he experience both Heaven and Hell at the same time?

“Oh god, that was so weird,” George laughs nervously, covering his face with his arms. There’s laughter in the distance as well as Karl’s cooing, Alex’s teasing, and Sapnap’s fake gagging. Dream can’t join in on the fun.

“Can we move on?” George sounds very, very flustered. Normally, that would have Dream pushing George’s buttons until he’s had enough fun, but this time, Dream feels nervous. More nervous than George, which says a lot because George has his face buried in his hands.

“Aww, is little Gogy embarrassed?” Alex speaks several pitches higher than usual. “Little baby can’t handle confessing to his _Dweam_.”

Karl spreads his arms, beckoning George over. “Come on, Gogy, I’ll protect you.” George flips him off and Karl giggles.

“I’m tired,” Sapnap announces abruptly. He straightens his posture and stretches his arms over his head, letting out a sleepy exhale. “George, hurry up and ask Alex already.” 

The game becomes background noise for Dream starting there. While his friends toss around ideas to get back at Alex for all the harmless teasing he’s done over the months they’ve known each other, Dream tries to figure out what’s got his head spinning so badly. He stands up, excusing himself for the night, but nearly trips over his own feet as he races to his room. Along with their mild laughter, he can hear them question him, but he doesn’t spare them any answers.

Right now, he needs to be alone.

Dream makes the mistake of slamming the door shut. He’s not thinking straight and he nudges the door a little harder than he should. It makes a loud sound and Dream cringes. 

Nothing happens. After spending a few seconds contemplating whether or not he should apologize for the noise, he decides to simply lay face down in bed. It’s better not to create a problem when one doesn’t exist.

_I love you, Clay._

Why, why, _why_ can’t Dream stop hearing George’s voice in his head? Repeating that one phrase over and over again almost like he’s never heard George say anything else.

This isn’t the first time George has said he’s loved him. It’s rare, but it has happened before. So, why does it feel different now? Why does hearing his name—his real name, _Clay—_ give his heart the hiccups.

Dream is lost in his thoughts and he doesn’t hear the soft knocking on the door until the handle is jingling. He stops tracing weird shapes onto the sheets with his finger and instead glances at the door as it pushes slightly ajar.

George slips in and lightly shuts the door behind him.

“Hey.” Dream hates the way his voice trembles when he greets George. It gets him a concerned frown. The bed dips when George sits down on the edge of it and Dream freezes when George’s hand brushes aside his messy fringe.

“Hi. You okay?” George pulls his hand away from Dream’s dirty blonde locks, letting it rest on his own lap. “You left so suddenly.” 

“Sapnap said he was tired and I realized I was too,” Dream lies, fluttering his eyes shut. A second later, he discerns a soft push and finds himself peeking up at George again. “What?”

“Scoot over,” George says, staring down at Dream expectantly. Dream doesn’t move because he’s far too suspicious about George's intentions. “You’re clearly upset and you’re not telling me why so we’re just gonna lie here until you feel better.”

Something churns inside of Dream. His heart feels like a damp rag being twisted until the remnants spill. It’s being squeezed dry.

Dream slides over, leaving a reasonable distance between them, and George lies down next to him. They’re looking at each other, both their chests pressed against the mattress.

George is the one who breaks the silence.

“Thanks for saving me from that stupid round.” He’s referring to Karl’s question about his first kiss and Dream accepts the sentiment with a nod. Then, George looks down, catching his lower lip between his teeth. Dream senses a struggle and without much thought, leans in to knock their heads together gently.

“Snap out of it,” he advises. Right before he’s about to pull back, George looks up at him. There’s courage, but it’s vulnerable. It’s the type of raw impulse that makes Dream scared.

He’s scared to know what thoughts linger in George’s mind. Is it anything like the thoughts in his own?

“Dream.” 

Dream hums. They tread the waters gently.

“What does it feel like to kiss somebody?”

That’s not a question Dream is ready to answer. Dream hasn’t kissed anyone in a long, long time. He hasn’t even thought about kissing anyone—anyone other than George that is and he can’t talk to George about that for obvious reasons.

George gives him time to reminisce on his past, to recall his partners, to remember what it means to be in love. It’s hard. Dream’s last relationship had taken a toll on him and he had sworn off them until he was ready to open his heart up again. However, with his career taking off, he never had ample time and his love life began collecting dust.

That’s not said bitterly, of course. Dream likes being single; he likes it a lot.

(George is pouting and Dream doesn’t think George knows that he is. That makes him even cuter.)

Well, Dream _liked_ being single. Now, he’s not so sure.

“It’s nice with the right person,” Dream settles for a safe answer. It’s the same thing everyone says about anything related to romance, but it’s all Dream can think of.

It doesn’t satisfy George.

“How was your first kiss? How did it feel?”

Dream sighs, drumming his fingers against his pillow as he tries to live through his memories. “It was alright,” Dream admits with a shrug. “First kisses are.. overhyped. Kisses in general. They’re nothing special.”

Just as he’s about to drop the conversation, images of his ex girlfriend rush aboard on his train of thoughts. Snippets of her smile as Dream leans in to indulge her in soft kisses, her hands as they reached out to run through Dream’s hair, when she would giggle and jokingly tuck her hair behind her ear.

“But.. some kisses are magical,” Dream breathes out. His fingers tremble and he curls them inwards before George can notice. 

“They make you feel as if you’re flying and drowning at the same time. Like you’re on a wave, savoring the freedom you feel as you’re riding it, while knowing at some point you’re going to crash.”

George’s lips part in awe of the words leaving Dream’s mouth. Sure, it was no secret that Dream wanted to be a writer when he was younger, but he’s never spoken like this in front of his friends before, so he can understand George’s shock. 

“When you’re in love everything is like that.”

George doesn’t say anything so Dream continues very carefully. “Why are you asking?”

George’s next sentence comes out hurried, as if he’s saying it for the sake of getting it out there. It parallels ripping a bandaid off.

"I've never kissed anybody," George confesses.

Dream doesn't understand how that's possible. Like this, basked in the comfort of the moonlight, George is beautiful.

"Really? Who wouldn't want to kiss you?" There's too much honesty in Dream's voice. It's raw—a confession practically begging to be brought to light.

"Dream," George is careful, as if his next words could lead to Dream's downfall.

And they do.

"Can you teach me how to kiss?"

To say Dream malfunctions is a simple way to put it. No, Dream straight out falls apart. (As straight as he can possibly be anyway.)

He lands himself in a choking fit, sitting up and hitting his chest with a weak fist. George frantically sits up with him, hands suspended in the air because he’s not sure what to do with them, even though he wants to help.

“Is that weird? Sorry, you don’t have to. I just,” George pauses, reaching for Dream’s water bottle that rests on the bedside lamp. Dream only coughs harder at how close George is and George becomes an even bigger mess of slippery apologies as he hands Dream the bottle.

“It’s okay,” Dream wheezes, taking a few sips of water and wincing as he tries to will himself not to cough again. George fiddles with his thumbs, not wanting to pick up where he left off, but Dream encourages him. “Continue?”

George closes his eyes, heaving a sigh. “I want to know how it feels and I.. want to practice. I’m _twenty three,_ it’ll be so.. embarrassing if I go on a date—” Dream’s eye twitches. “—and I don’t know how to do something so _basic_ like kissing.” 

Dream listens intently, weighing the options he has been given.

He could deny the request, marking it as the first time in history where he’s refused to help George. George would understand, but the guilt would spread like poison inside of Dream. Besides, George had trusted him enough to ask and the courage it took—Dream saw it. He saw George making such an immense effort to step out of his comfort zone.. and with him to add onto it.

So, Dream could also accept the request. Something tells him that it’ll burn him like no fire could ever come close to, akin to Hell. But if Dream is going to be honest, he has already reserved a seat next to the Devil himself.

“Okay,” Dream says quietly. “I’ll do it. Kisses don’t have to mean anything, anyway.”

Right. Kisses don’t have to mean anything and yet here he is making a fuss.

“Really?” George’s eyes light up and the corners of his lips curve upwards.

“Really.” Dream confirms and slides a hand up so it rests on George’s cheek. George startles, clearly not expecting the touch despite seeing Dream’s arm move, and Dream teases him for it. “Most people close their eyes at this part.”

“Oh, are we- are we doing this now?” George asks after clearing his throat. Dream blushes and moves his hand away, realizing neither of them clarified when ‘practice’ would be happening. His eyes widen when George grabs his hand and returns it to its prior place: on his face.

“I just needed a minute,” George whispers. His eyelashes bat prettily until his lids finally come to a shut. Dream thinks George’s beauty is unfair.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” Dream tries his best to sound monotonous but his voice wavers at the end. He hopes George doesn’t hear that.

“Yeah, that was the _plan,_ idi-”

Dream cuts off George’s bratty remark by pressing their lips together and that’s when it finally happens.

The lock on his Pandora’s box snaps, clattering as it hits the ground, and everything swims out. Every feeling he’s repressed, every thought he’s buried, _everything_ floats to the surface until Dream can no longer crowd himself in denial’s shadow.

In short, this is Dream’s _oh_ moment.

George’s lips are soft against his own and when Dream gets bold (greedy might be more suiting), he presses a bit harder. He can feel each ridge from George’s habit of biting his lips, can hear the small gasps of air George darts in, can sense George’s confusion from the way he remains stiff in Dream’s hold. 

Dream tries to melt away the ice.

He pulls away briefly, ghosting his lips over George’s, before sinking his teeth onto George’s lower lip and tugging. George grows impatient with the way Dream teases him, their mouths close enough for him to feel Dream’s smirk, but just barely touching. Dream’s plan works and George dives in, clumsily molding their lips together again. 

This time it’s less shy and more feverish. George is a quick learner and Dream is an eager teacher; their kisses aim to bruise. Dream’s hand moves down from George’s cheek to his waist, dragging the smaller man closer until their chests are nearly flush against each other. George’s fingers dance up Dream’s arm and then curl around Dream’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before continuing on to venture into the depths of Dream’s hair.

These kisses are definitely more than George was asking for and more than either of them were anticipating, but as long as George isn’t stopping him, Dream can’t help but take. His grip on George’s hip tightens and the way George’s breath hitches is addictive. When George pulls away, Dream chases after his lips absentmindedly, but stops himself before he pushes his boundaries. 

His eyes zero in on George’s neck. The desire to teach George other forms of kisses is strong and Dream, in this moment, is a very weak-willed man.

“You were right,” George mumbles after catching his breath. He removes his hand from Dream’s hair with an impish tug. Dream mourns the loss of his touch. 

“It’s nothing special.”

Dream watches silently as George flashes him a grin. His cheeks are pink from the warmth and weight of their actions, but other than that, he’s the same. He's George. The one that brushes off serious situations with a carefree mindset, so long as nothing is at jeopardy from him doing so.

And nothing is. Because what Dream is feeling right now should be non-existent.

The bed squeaks when George leaves to clamber into his own. Dream can only stare at him idly and George raises an eyebrow when he catches his gaze. “This doesn’t have to be weird, Dream,” George mumbles with a chortle. “You’re just teaching me how to kiss. Like you taught me how to speedrun.”

Those are two very different things—they both know that—but it’s also the easiest reference for both of them to understand. This is where they stand. Two friends, despite the kiss they shared, despite the kisses they _will_ share.

A draft blows in from under the door and George shivers.

Dream is left feeling numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! University has started for me so there will be more of a wait between updates! I'll try to make it worthwhile though.
> 
> This chapter includes the CHUNK from the story's blurb, FINALLY. However, we are only beginning! The initial prompt was having them practice kissing and we are finally in that territory so the rest of the plot will follow.
> 
> I'm sorry that the buildup was so long.. even in this chapter alone.. please forgive me,,
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments below if you have time! Thank you for reading. :)
> 
> P.S: As always, this is unedited (because I hate my works when I reread and would probably end up unpublishing everything + I have no friends


	4. Puppet Strings and Tape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's funny to Dream that there are five stages of grief.
> 
> Because if denial's the first and acceptance is the last, why is Dream stuck in this emotional limbo where he experiences both at once?
> 
> In other words, he's sure what he feels for George will pass, but at the same time, he's certain he'd be willing to try again in all the alternate universes they meet in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Dream or George ever change their mind regarding shipping/fanfiction, I will be taking this fic down.

Dream is anything _but_ numb.

A simple “good morning!” with a smile is enough to punch the air out of his lungs until he’s laying flat, defeated, on the bed with no motivation to move. Giddy and lost in the dazzling sparkles of George’s hazel eyes, but also confused and distraught with the burdensome feeling of having to bottle up his affection.

As any reasonable young adult would do, Dream fixes his problem by forcing himself to pay less and less attention to the details. He doesn’t need to know everything. He doesn’t need to know George sleeps on the left side of his bed, facedown, because then the sun reaches him slower in the morning. He doesn’t need to know George hates singing in public because he’s shy, but hums in the shower because he thinks nobody can hear him.

“Earth to Dream?”

Dream snaps his head up, no longer idly staring at the unlit fireplace. Karl is standing in front of him with a concerned frown on his face and to be more kind to the strain on Dream’s neck, he crouches a generous amount.

“The others wanna go on a drive, you down?” Karl bops his head to the side and Dream lets his eyes travel until they land on the front door. It’s slightly open and he can hear the laughter of the rest of his friends come from the other side.

It would be nice to go. Dream’s all about traveling, so seeing the scenery in North Carolina is appealing, and Karl’s back windows are tinted so he doesn’t have to worry about any accidental face reveals either.

George peeks his head in, calling for them, and Dream itches to follow like he’s somehow been _trained_ to do. Instead, he looks up at Karl and stretches his arms lazily. 

“Nah, I’m a little tired. You guys go on ahead though, don’t let me stop you.”

Karl gives him a thoughtful once over, the concern on his face never leaving, but to Dream’s relief, he doesn’t ask. He straightens his posture, offers half a smile that never reaches his eyes, and then jogs over to George. Dream hears hushed whispers before the door clicks shut and the lock turns.

If he’s being honest, he’s not sure what compelled him to say no. In general, it _had_ been George, but he’s not sure _why_ it had been George.

They haven’t kissed since that one time.

Dream doesn’t dwindle on George finding the experience bland because he wasn’t expecting anything different. George and him were best friends, there would never be anything more to that. So, although he’ll allow himself to admit that he’s upset, that’s not the reason why he turned down the road trip.

Dream wonders why they haven’t kissed again. Surely one time isn’t enough practice.

Their kisses had been innocent, touches of the lips and nothing more, but not every kiss was going to be framed like that and he’s certain George understands. So, why hadn’t he sought Dream out again? Did Dream’s guidance not suffice?

Something evil stains him from the inside when he thinks about George asking someone else for the same favor. Even if he imagines that person to be Sapnap, there’s a sour taste on the tip of his tongue.

He hears the doorbell ring and he freezes. Karl had pulled out of the driveway a few minutes ago; he was alone. He couldn’t answer the door for a plethora of reasons—his face, first and foremost—so Dream tries to pay the ringing no heed and returns to his other, more intrusive thoughts.

Was George waiting for Dream to initiate?

That made no sense. They were doing this for George so naturally, they were doing things at _his_ pace, not Dream’s. Besides, he _did_ initiate the last time. However, in order for him to even _consider_ leaning in and kissing George senseless, he needed verbal confirmation and George hasn’t spoken to him about the incident since.

Dream groans, leaning his head back until it lolls over the backrest. The ceiling is a blank canvas and Dream hates how easy it is for him to start painting his fantasies out on it. 

“Lashes,” he recalls and _God_ were George’s something to fear. Curled and long, just enough to kiss right above the tips of his cheekbones without seeming wicked long. Beautiful, but could bring a man to his knees if George were to stare up through them.

Dream raises a hand, finger tracing a lazy pattern in the air. 

“Lips.”

Plump, rosy overall, but darker shades of cherry every now and then from nervous nipping. There was also that white glow surrounding his teeth whenever George would bite his lip, one that would fade back to a rosy pink at the edges. Dream wonders if his fingers would have the same effect when digging down and prying those lips apart.

And the _warmth_ that had filled Dream when they had kissed. It had been so inviting that he had to consciously remind himself not to push too far. His curiosity ails him. If he were to slip those aforementioned fingers in, rest them on George’s tongue, would the warmth be too much to bear? If he were to explore that cavern with his tongue instead, eager to learn every inch, would George go slack in his touch? Would the heat consume both of them?

The doorbell rings again. Dream stares at the door momentarily and considers answering, but then shakes it off. It wouldn’t be a good idea, he reminds himself.

“Hands,” he whispers, eyes tracing the outline of his own.

His are bigger, tan and decorated with prominent veins. George’s are slender, pale and perfect to color in bruises. The task would be so easy for Dream, but he’s not sure _how_ easy. Would they redden at the slightest touch? Would playful pinches leave faint purple hues? Dream could probably taint both with one hand.

He sits up again, shaking his head and burying his face in his hands. It’s a futile attempt to erase the images in his head. 

His phone rings mercifully and distracts him from his thoughts.

“Hello?” he grumbles into the mic, not bothering to check the contact name.

“Whoa,” Alex sounds taken aback, but he laughs directly after. “You okay, dude? You sound roughed up.”

“Fine, just tired,” Dream lies with too much practice. He plucks at the skin around his nails. “Why’re you calling?”

“We’re gonna get subways on the way back. Want anything? You’re on speaker by the way.”

“Sapnap knows my order.”

He hears shuffling and then Alex’s voice reaches him again. “This is true?”

“Of course! What kind of best friend would I be if I _didn’t_ know?”

Alex says something, but Dream can barely hear it because the doorbell rings _again._

“Karl,” Dream calls out and he hears his friend hum in response. “Someone keeps ringing the fucking doorbell. How do I tell them to kindly piss off?”

“Tell George to handle it. He’s got the attitude for that.”

Lightning strikes almost ominously at the mention of his unrequited crush’s name and Dream feels an urge to lock himself in a closet.

“George?” He repeats in confusion, ignoring the second clap of thunder above him.

Dream hears the tires screech and Alex speedruns a list of curses. “What the _fuck_ Karl?”

“Dream, dude,” Karl laughs in disbelief. “George said he was gonna stay with you.”

Dream hangs up the call at record speed and nearly slips dashing towards the door. When he swings it open, he’s greeted with a deathly stare and an icy _‘Clay.’_

“I didn’t know that was you! I’ve got an identity to protect,” Dream defends weakly as he yanks George inside and out of the rain. The door closes and Dream snaps the lock shut before racing towards the bathroom. He plucks a towel off the stack on the shelves and then meets George in the hallway again.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I d-don’t have my s-sim card, idiot,” George hisses, grabbing the towel out of Dream’s hands and trying his best to dry off his hair. He can barely manage to do so, thanks to his shivering, so Dream takes the towel back and does it for him.

He tries his best not to dig too harshly into George’s scalp, but the worry makes it hard for him to do so. He works diligently, drying off the ends of George’s hair first before taking a jab at the roots, and George flinches every now and then. Whether it’s from the pressure or just from his bangs pricking his eyes, Dream isn’t sure; he softens his gestures nonetheless.

“Better?” He asks, brushing George’s fringe back so that his forehead is exposed. It makes it easier for Dream to look into George’s eyes this way, but Dream’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. Because while George’s eyes are beautiful, Dream has a tendency to get lost in them.

George nods once, shifting his gaze away from Dream’s and chewing on his lower lip. Dream sighs, satisfied with the response, and drapes the towel over the brunet’s shoulders.

“You’re gonna catch a cold, we need to get you a change of clothes,” Dream mumbles, beckoning George to follow him into their shared bedroom. “Do you have anything warm?”

“No. I have sweats in the fourth drawer, that’s it,” George grunts, tugging the towel tighter around his lithe frame and practically disappearing underneath it. Dream sneaks in a glance when George isn’t looking and he recoils at the way his heart sings.

“I’ll lend you something,” Dream shrugs, laying out the sweats on the bed before retrieving a clean hoodie from his side of the room. He tries to remain as nonchalant as possible when he puts it down next to George’s clothes.

“Tell me when you’re done,” he says as he exits the room, closing the door behind him. It’s only after he hears the soft thud of George’s clothes hitting the floor that Dream realizes the consequences he’ll have to face for his actions. 

George. In his hoodie. In _Dream’s_ hoodie.

“Fuck,” he whispers, faceplanting against the wooden door. George questions the noise, but Dream doesn’t think of a coherent response and only emits a strangled noise of reassurance. (How convincing. Truly.)

“What’s wrong with you, weirdo?” George snorts and Dream has half a second to collect himself so that he doesn’t topple over when the door flies open.

“Tired,” Dream’s rehearsed lie slips off his tongue without hesitation. George doesn’t bother sparing him a glance, walking right past Dream as if he doesn’t exist.

“Lying voice.”

Dream cringes, remembering that George is the one person he can’t lie to. He doesn’t know if he loves it or hates it.

He turns around, watching George shuffle down the hallway and then descend down the flight of stairs. The hoodie is too many sizes too big on George, but that’s what makes it look _good._ Dream wouldn’t mind giving him more clothes to borrow.

“You look nice,” Dream says without thinking when he plops down next to George on the couch. George glances at him quickly before pushing himself up onto his feet again. His arms spread out and he turns to face Dream with a sheepish grin.

“It’s way too big. It’s bigger than that stupid extra large merch of yours I bought,” George laughs, looking down at himself and rocking on his heels. Dream takes the chance to rake his eyes up and down George’s figure adoringly. 

The hem of the hoodie falls just below the middle of his thighs and the sleeves cause his hands to disappear fully. The hood pools on his shoulders and Dream is certain that half of George’s face would be covered if he were to yank it over his head.

What’s interesting to Dream is that George’s sweats are also loose on him, confirming his suspicions that George does actually buy clothing in a size larger than necessary. A smile tugs onto Dream’s lips without him realizing it.

George notices.

“Why’re you smiling at me like that,” George huffs under his breath, taking his seat next to Dream again. He reaches for the remote but Dream grabs it before him.

“Cause you’re cute,” Dream answers truthfully. He wiggles the remote in front of George’s face and then raises it above their heads when the shorter man lunges for it again. “Football time.”

“American football is boring,” George rolls his eyes, but surrenders. He folds his arms over his chest and the ends of his sleeves bunch up because of the size. Dream shakes his head, laughing in endearment to himself.

In the middle of flipping through the channels, Dream realizes that Karl uses a different TV network than him. Too lazy to find the sports channel, he settles for cartoon network, which is already playing (as expected), and puts down the remote on the other end of the couch, far from George. The brit is too occupied sneezing and unsurprisingly, Dream transforms into a worry wart.

“Still cold?” he asks, looking around the room for some sort of blanket. Nothing. He’s not sure how to control the temperature of the room and he doesn’t want to accidentally fuck something up, so finding the thermostat is out of question. “You should go lie in bed.”

“No,” George dismisses. He sneezes again and Dream gives him a reprimanding look. “I stayed home to hang out with you, Dream, so we are _going_ _to_ _hang_.”

Dream drags a palm down his face, knowing how stubborn George can get. “We can still hang out in your room. You’re such an idiot.”

“I like Adventure Time,” George replies, pretending to be focused on the show so that he can use it as his alibi. Dream sees right through him.

“Name two characters other than Finn.”

“Um.”

“Oh, come on now,” Dream groans, turning the TV off and standing in front of George expectantly. “Off to bed we go, Georgie.”

“I said _no,_ Dream.” George places a hand on the armrest closest to him, gripping it as if it’ll save him from getting whisked away by Dream.

It doesn’t.

“Stop,” George protests when Dream leans over, arms winding around George’s waist without much of a struggle. The smaller man flails, giving the hardest shove he can manage at Dream’s chest and gaping when the blonde doesn’t budge. “What the fuck do you eat?”

Dream can’t help but chuckle at that, easing George off of the couch and onto his feet. “Do you really wanna know?”

“Oh, shut up,” George groans, taking a step back. His attempt to pull away only makes Dream draw him closer.

“Dance with me,” Dream teases. One of his hands slips around to hook onto George’s hip. This is all self-indulgent, really. “It’ll help you warm up.”

“I’m warm enough,” George argues, but the sneeze that follows gives him away. Dream grins victoriously and his other hand latches onto George’s adjacent one. Their fingers intertwine naturally and Dream can’t stop himself from staring. He intends to memorize it, but George taps his foot impatiently.

“Put your left hand on my shoulder.”

George does just that and steps in closer. At the proper height, it’s easy for Dream to see just how much _bigger_ he is in comparison to George. He could engulf George’s entire hand with his own if he wanted to.

“Now what?” George’s voice gently tugs Dream out of his thoughts. 

He glances at George, inspecting his facial expression for any signs of discomfort, and thankfully comes up empty handed. George breaks the intense gaze, opting to look at the soft carpet they’re standing on.

“Follow my lead,” Dream whispers, so close that his breath causes George’s bangs to move slightly.

He takes a step back with his right foot, George fills the gap in, and then he finishes the step with his left, which George has no problem copying. They repeat this twice before Dream persuades George to try starting it off and George immediately messes up, tripping and accidentally stepping on Dream’s foot.

“Ow.” It doesn’t hurt, but teasing George comes like second nature to Dream. “That hurt!”

“I’m sorry!” George jolts back, almost bumping into Dream’s chin with the top of his head. He’s clearly flustered, frantically glancing back and forth between Dream's face and the foot he just ‘injured’. “I- see, I’m no good at this.”

Dream uses the grip he has on George to pull him in close again, eliciting a surprised yelp from the latter. They stand there, chest to chest, and Dream temporarily forgets about the stress that’s been on his mind for days.

“George,” he doesn’t know why he says it. George looks up at him with doe eyes, inquiring wordlessly, and he’s so pretty. So _damn_ _pretty_ without knowing it. Dream grits his teeth, “Nevermind.”

“Okay,” George drawls out, clearly confused, and Dream pulls away.

He tries his best to be normal, but when George squeezes his hand reassuringly, Dream yanks his own back. It’s quick, as if he’s been burnt, and he has been—scorched by the flames of Hell themselves—but Dream accepts the pain.

George doesn’t say anything when Dream hurriedly leaves and Dream isn’t sure if he wants him to.

* * *

“Stream going up in five!” Karl shouts from down the hallway before he slams his bedroom door shut.

Everyone’s stationed at their own desks, except Alex who has snuck into Karl’s room. Something about surprising Karl and his chat with a sudden appearance.

Dream stares at his monitor, watching as Jackbox slowly boots up on Karl’s screen, until he hears a series of pings from the text channel. Sapnap is spamming the discord chat with the same photo of Rat that Bad had sent them this morning. It’s not funny, but Dream finds himself laughing anyway. Their humor is simplistic and parallels those of children, literal children.

“Boys!” Sapnap yells into the mic. Dream has his headphones looped around his neck, so he hears Sapnap’s voice through discord and from down the hall. It’s noisy, but he’s used to it.

“Sapnap!” He yells back after adjusting his equipment so that he’s ready for Karl’s stream. A shadow casts over his monitor for a passing second and through his peripheral vision, he can see George sitting himself down at his own desk.

Karl’s mic lights up, “Ready? You guys have about 3 minutes since I’m playing Corpse’s new song first.”

“All good,” George whispers into his own mic. Dream spares him a glance and sees George rub his temples, either from stress or sleepiness. “Where’s Quackity?”

George’s question goes unheard because Karl deafens his mic and a few seconds later, Dream’s phone lights up with the notification that Karl’s channel is live. He pulls up the stream on his second monitor and chuckles to himself at the stark contrast between Karl’s and Corpse’s voices when the former sings along.

“He sounds like a rat,” George teases and Dream snorts. It’s so like him. “No offense to _the_ Rat of course.”

“Don’t talk about my fiancé like that,” Sapnap scolds lightly. If they had been on Minecraft, Dream would already be in the middle of a war. Thankfully, they aren’t, so all Sapnap can do is move George to a different voice channel, but George joins back instantly.

The music stops and Dream instinctively glances at Karl’s stream. He manages to look at the exact second Alex jumps out of the closet with a loaded nerf gun aimed right at Karl’s face. Karl falls out of his chair and Dream doesn’t need to check Twitter to know that it’s already trending. After a few seconds of light-hearted banter, Alex pulls up a chair next to Karl’s and Dream hears Karl undeafen.

Show’s on. He mutes Karl’s stream and greets the chat with an overenthusiastic hi.

“A bit much,” Sapnap teases. Dream tells him to shut up, but nothing more.

“Starting it off with some good ol’ Quiplash,” Karl announces and Dream can’t help but groan in misery. 

Quiplash is the worst game in all of the Jackbox series and Dream will stand by that. It’s Pander City and Dream is willing to drive right past it. George shares his sentiments and Dream discerns a light, sympathetic pat on the back from his best friend, but that’s all.

“This is Dream’s favorite,” Alex jokes and Dream’s about to refute it when two loud dings go off.

First he hears Bad, who scolds Sapnap for his actions from earlier, and then he hears a posh British accent laced with drowsiness, which belongs to no other than Wilbur.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Sapnap asks Wilbur while the instructions to the game are being read aloud. They’ve all played this game too many times to need it.

“ _I_ _sn’t it past your bedtime?”_ Wilbur repeats in a poor American accent to which Alex goes ‘LMFAO’ out loud. “Sorry, do I sound tired? I just got finished doing your mother.”

“Dude!”

Dream wheezes, tossing his head back and nearly slipping out of his chair in the process. Laughing this hard at his best friend’s defeat should definitely be breaking a bro code of some sort, but he could care less right now.

“Was it _that_ funny, Dream?” George scoffs and Dream looks at him, wiping the tears that have formed at the corners of his eyes. “Oh my god, Dream. _Breathe.”_

“You tell ‘em, Gogmister,” Karl says and then with that same breath, “Stop looking at my answers!”

Dream flinches when Alex’s loud laughter filters in through his headset and then he shakes his head with a soft smile as he types out his own answers. He can hear them bicker in the background and it almost distracts him from submitting his answers on time.

“You’re cheating!”

“Any askers? I see none?”

“Hey!” Bad yells, causing Alex and Karl to quiet down. “No fighting. We’re all friends here.”

Before Alex can come up with a witty response, the first prompt flashes on the screen. Needless to say, he’s the one to read it out loud because nobody else cares to.

“What is the worst thing to say at a funeral?” From the corner of Dream’s eye, he sees Alex rub his hands evilly on Karl’s stream, clearly too excited for the answers that are about to appear.

_“This is so boring, I thought it was supposed to be a FUNeral,”_ Alex snorts. “Versus _I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me._ What the fuck?”

“Language!”

“Who wrote these?” Alex is doubling over in laughter, almost in hysterics. Dream finds it funnier that beside Alex, Karl is as frozen as ice with only an awkward smile on his face because anything more could lead to a cancel thread on Twitter.

The right one wins, much to Karl’s dismay and Wilbur’s glory, and it’s all because of the audience. Nobody is daring enough to risk their career on the line by voting for the second and only Alex and George dare to vote for the first.

“The easiest way to become famous is,” Alex reads aloud and Dream emits a loud sigh, already knowing where this is going to go.

_“Cheat_ —oh my god— _on a children’s video game_ or _Tweet #DNF._ Okay the second one is such a pander!”

Out of spite, Dream votes the second option. He doesn’t have the courage to look at George when the results pop up; that is until he realizes that George’s answer is on the right. “George? What’s wrong with you?”

“You voted for it!” George shoots right back at him without hesitation and his laughter echoes. “Caught in 4k. Everyone spam my 4k emote.”

“Worst thing to name your child.”

_Rat_ versus _George._ Dream gets George back by voting for his name and George reaches over, punching Dream on the shoulder for it.

“What the fuck?” He splutters, ignoring Bad when he reprimands him. George shoots him a dirty look and while it’s meant to be menacing, Dream thinks he looks more like an angry kitten than anything else.

Speaking of kittens, George is still wearing his hoodie and his sweater paws make him look a lot smaller than he is. Dream’s stare lingers long enough for him to miss the next two rounds and he only remembers he’s playing a game when Alex and Sapnap put him on blast for not voting. If George knows the reason behind Dream’s temporary absence, he says nothing of it.

“I can’t believe Bad is in the lead. I’m taking that spot next round,” Karl challenges. Dream wants to jump in, the Leo in him aches, but he stays silent because he’s second to last. Quiplash is not his forte and it never will be. His jokes are too _good_ for everyone to get because they’re _dumb_ and only farm votes through memes.

“Any askers?” Bad replies easily, apologizing immediately after as if it’ll take away the damage that’s been done. Dream watches as Karl dramatically falls out of his chair again. Alex widens his eyes comically and then moves so that he’s in the center of the screen, only to be pushed out of the way once Karl gets back onto his feet.

“My prompts suck,” Dream complains into his mic and Wilbur hums in agreement. “We should play monster seeking monster.”

Karl gets a little too excited when Dream mentions his favorite game, but everyone else shuts him down the second after, saying that it didn’t fit the vibe of the stream. In other words, they didn’t like the game, but they needed kinder words so that they wouldn’t have to say it so bluntly. George accuses Dream of simply wanting to flirt with the audience and Dream doesn’t deny, knowing their fans will get a kick out of it. It’s funny to see them simp over the littlest of things.

Ironic, really.

Dream knows he’s being a hypocrite. He knows because his heart is the loudest thing in the room right now and all he’s doing is watching George giggle to himself over the answers he’s typing on his phone.

“Oo, Dream got a safety quip,” Sapnap announces and Dream gently hits his fist against the desk, knowing that he’s messed up this time. He doesn’t care as much as usual though, not when George is finding this entertaining enough to nudge Dream on the arm with his elbow and mouth ‘loser’ as if it’s a secret that he can’t share on stream.

“Oh no, they’re making a live action movie of… _The Dream SMP_ or _Heat Waves._ This isn’t funny. You guys have to be funnier than this.” Alex stares into the camera, giving the most unimpressed look he can manage. The rest of them know him well enough to tell that he’s bluffing; one of these answers belongs to him.

“I know right,” Wilbur butts in with a low chuckle. “Who would write such a thing?”

Wilbur loses that round to Alex, despite everyone on the call voting for his answer. The audience is too predictable and Dream rolls his eyes when Alex hollers in triumph.

“Let’s fucking go! Chat, thank you, you are so easy. I was not lying when I said dreamnotfound was the easiest way to win jackbox.” 

Dream remembers the stream Alex is referencing. He hadn’t played on it, but he had watched Sapnap and Sapnap had given him the cheekiest of grins when Alex had said that phrase the first time. He’s sure that Sapnap’s bearing the same exact expression on his face right now.

By the end of the second round, the counter for DNF jokes had hit five and as much as Dream wants to entertain the crowd, he isn’t up for more of them.

So, when the last round roles in and Sapnap’s answers to “A better love story than Twilight” are just three variations of dreamnotfound, Dream lies for the umpteenth time that day by saying he’s tired. 

George catches him again—of course he does—but he doesn’t say anything.

“Already? It’s not even that late,” Bad whines, trying to convince Dream to stay longer. 

Alex begs him to play Madverse City at the least, but Dream declines. “So you guys can pander some more? No thanks.”

Dream knows he sounds a lot harsher than usual and he’s definitely gonna get a dozen messages asking him about his tone later, but for now, all of them know not to push. Karl lets him off the hook, already texting a few of his other friends to fill in, and Dream bids chat his goodbyes before hanging up the call.

“Ranboo?” He hears George say as he climbs into bed. He tries his best not to make too much noise, aware that George’s mic was still on and if their fans were able to put two and two together, they’d never be able to live things down. “Oh? Corpse too, wow.”

Dream perks up at that, carefully tossing one of his pillows at the back of George’s head. George’s fingers hit a hotkey on the keyboard, which Dream assumes is to mute the mic, because George then takes off his headset and turns to face him.

“What?”

“I wanna hear.”

“Join on your own phone then,” George says, turning his chair back around to focus on the stream. Dream emits an obnoxiously loud whine before George can put his headphones on again. “Oh my god, _fine._ You big baby.”

Carefully, George places his headphones on his desk and then turns them off. It takes a second for his computer to recognize the change in output devices.

“You’re gonna get destroyed.” Wilbur sounds tired, his voice is an octave lower than usual. Dream is surprised voices can sound that deep.

Ranboo denies Wilbur’s claims and Corpse chuckles at the dramatics. Dream suddenly feels very self-conscious. He’s never cared about how he sounds until now. Hearing the triangle of deep voice makes him feel like his pride is being threatened.

It doesn’t help that George is giggling to everything coming out of Corpse’s mouth either. 

(He does that everytime Corpse is in the lobby, Dream swears it.)

“George, you’re gonna like this one,” Corpse says into the mic and Dream frowns when he sees George press the side of his face into his palm.

“I’m gonna like it?” George repeats. Dream doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s blushing (that’s the worst part). “How are you so sure about that?”

“You’ll see, baby.”

_Baby?_

To be fair, it’s Corpse’s signature word. However, Dream doesn’t feel any less weirded out by hearing that directed towards George.

“Oh my god,” George laughs softly, covering his face with his hands fully now—or rather, the sleeves of Dream’s hoodie. Dream should be enjoying the sight, but he’s too focused on, well:

Why doesn’t George react like that when _he_ calls him _baby?_

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he misses the first half of Corpse’s rap, only tuning in for the last two lines.

“I’m world class, you’re just a _mate._ _I wanna be more though, let me take you on a date.”_

Dream stares daggers into George’s monitor, as if they’ll somehow reach Corpse who’s across the country. Corpse is a great guy, don’t get Dream wrong, but was that verse necessary? Was it _really?_

_“Corpse,”_ is George’s response. He says it in a way Dream has only ever heard him say _his_ name before. Exasperated, flustered, on the brink of leaving the call from (welcomed) embarrassment.

Dream sends another pillow at George’s head and is pleased when George mutes his mic to give him another annoyed “ _What?”_

“Tone it down Captain Obvious,” Dream snorts. “I can feel you blushing from here.”

He expects a snarky reply, but only gets a curt _“whatever”_. That doesn’t sit right with him, but it _has_ _to,_ so Dream stays quiet when George begins his own rap.

Corpse wins by a landslide, as expected, and his victory speech for the round is concise. “So, about that date?”

“I’m going to sleep,” Dream says without thinking. He can see George panic, struggling to mute his mic because he’s caught off guard, and by the spam of _let me in please_ emotes in Karl’s chat, he can tell that everyone has caught onto them. That’s a problem for another time though. “G’night.”

“It’s nine, Dream.”

“And?”

“And,” George sighs, disconnecting from the discord himself after sending out a few messages. “You never sleep this early.”

“That’s not true. I’ve slept this early—,” there’s a hesitant pause, “probably once before.”

George rolls his eyes at Dream’s weak ending and then hurls Dream’s pillows back at him with all of the strength he can manage. They flop pathetically at Dream’s sides instead of his face, which George was most likely aiming at.

“Spit it out,” George says, making his way into Dream’s bed without even thinking to ask for permission. Not that Dream would deny him anyway. “You’ve been acting weird again, so spit it out.”

“Spit what out?”

“Whatever’s going on in that dense head of yours.”

“I,” Dream starts, closing his mouth so George can feel the full effect of his frown. “My head is not dense.”

The corners of George’s eyes crinkle when he smiles, “You’re not acting the part.”

Dream can only shake his head in response, trying to hint at a change of topic. George doesn’t get it. No, he definitely does, but he chooses to ignore it. Dream’s backed up against the wall with this one.

“Is this because we kissed?” _Yes._ “I won’t tell anyone.” _That’s not the problem._ “It can just be a one time thing. We can forget about it.” _I’ve tried and I can’t._ “I’m sorry for asking, really.”

“Don’t be,” Dream sighs, staring at the ceiling above them and imagining what it would look like with glow-in-the-dark stars littered across it. “I’m glad you asked me.”

_That_ came out wrong.

“Huh?”

Dream squeezes his eyes shut, “I mean it like—I’m happy you trust me enough to ask me.”

And then, very quietly, “Did you ask anyone else?”

“No,” George scoffs, pulling the covers up until they reach his chin. Dream doesn’t know how the heat isn’t suffocating him, given that the windows aren’t open and George is still in his oversized hoodie. “It’s scary to ask. I don’t want to be laughed at for it.”

The reassurance allows Dream to breathe easier. Of course it’s not in his place to be upset if George is kissing other people, but that’s easier said than done.

“I’d never laugh at you.”

“You definitely would,” George counters without hesitation and Dream only smiles because he knows George is right. “But I knew you’d keep it a secret. That was the whole reason I asked you.”

They’re not close enough to hear each other’s breathing, but Dream can still feel the warmth radiating off of George. Occasionally, George will shift around to get more comfortable and Dream will dart in a sharp breath whenever their arms or legs brush against each other.

“I can’t believe I’ll have to tell my future wife that my first kiss went to you.”

Dream grimaces at the mention of the future. It’s something he’s always dreaded. Sure, he has youtube to sustain him for now, but what happens when people get bored of his content? What happens when they replace him? Forget him?

Will his friends still be there in a few years? When’s the last time they’ll log onto his servers? Will they leave him for other people?

Then there’s also the mention of George’s future _wife._ A clear indication that no matter how many timelines Dream could waste time picturing, none of them would give him George. In George’s mind, they weren’t meant to be together.

Dream’s a debater, but this argument is a lost case.

However, it does please him that George says “you” instead of something more vague like ‘friend’. It means that whoever George ends up with will know about _him_ specifically. He won’t be just another face from George’s past.

“Me as in Dream or Clay?” He asks, rolling over so that he’s lying on his side and facing George.

George turns his head to stare at Dream before rolling onto his side as well. “Both, I would hope.”

“Both?”

“Yeah, the famous content creator, Dream, but also my best friend, Clay.”

“Oh,” Dream says quietly. It’s not that amazing of a response, he knows this, but he doesn’t have more to say. Knowing George plans to keep him in his life for that long leaves him speechless.

“Dream, if you have no problem with it, why haven’t you kissed me again?”

It takes all of Dream’s sanity to remind himself that George is asking this platonically, that their kisses are only lessons, that George is using him as practice. Later, George would be kissing someone else—someone he likes, someone he _loves,_ someone other than Dream—and Dream would have to be okay with that.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

“I literally asked you,” George mumbles and the bed squeaks when he scoots over. Dream wishes he weren’t so close because surely George could hear the loud, rhythmic beating of his heart now.

“I need permission, George, I can’t just lean in and kiss you out of nowhere.”

“Well, I’m giving you permission. Whenever and wherever, so long as we’re out of sight.”

“Why don’t _you_ initiate it?”

“You’re the one teaching me! I’m bad at this! I don’t know how to initiate, I- Dream?” George freezes under his touch when Dream places a hand on his cheek, his thumb brushing over George’s prominent cheekbone.

“They like when you grab their face. Gently like this,” Dream mumbles and then slowly, he moves his thumb to the other cheek and begins to apply pressure to both sides of George’s face. “Or a little rougher, depending on the person.”

His eyes are half-lidded, so he almost misses the way George flinches at his grip. Almost. He loosens up and then pulls his hand back a slight bit, just enough so that his pointer and middle fingers are all that remain on the underside of George’s chin.

“Lean in,” Dream mutters, pushing himself closer to George. The blanket pools up underneath their arms uncomfortably but Dream pays it no mind and tips George’s head up. “Get them to face you.”

“Because sometimes,” Dream whispers, angling his head to negate all attempts George has made at avoiding his intense gaze. “They get shy.”

The confidence is a facade. Dream refuses to speak louder than just above a whisper, not because he’s trying to be attractive, but because he doesn’t trust his voice. It wavers when he’s nervous and George _always_ makes him nervous. Dream also thanks the darkness of the night for hiding the color that’s—without a doubt—staining his face and the tips of his ears. 

After a few more seconds of silent staring, Dream finally seals their lips together.

It’s better than the last time. It’s better because now Dream has a better grasp of what’s happening and he’s aware of where his hands are. One of them rests atop the soft curve of George’s waist, fingers digging just enough to keep the man pinned against him without causing bruises, and the other is lost in soft, brunet locks. With the latter, Dream delivers a light tug to George’s hair and the noise it elicits fuels Dream’s hunger.

They part for air quickly because of George’s inexperience, but Dream takes this chance to tighten his grip on the smaller man’s hair again. George gasps, fluttering his eyes shut out of embarrassment, but Dream doesn’t tease him for it. Instead, he tips George’s head back and brings his lips to his ear.

“Take note of the things they like,” Dream murmurs. Right now, he’s daring enough to nip at the tip of George’s ear, but later, he knows he’ll wallow in regret. Thankfully, George doesn’t seem to mind.

He lets go of George’s hair, waiting until he sees dilated hazel irises staring back at him to continue. When he does, his right hand is cupping George’s jaw again and his thumb is venturing. It hovers over George’s jawline before landing on the center of his lips.

“Part them,” Dream orders, but George is too dazed and confused to comply, so Dream does it for him. His thumb presses onto George’s bottom lip, dragging it out until rows of teeth peek from behind it. “Normally, you’d do that with your tongue, but I don’t want to scare you.”

Dream knocks his forehead gently against George’s, wanting to be selfish for a second longer and keep him close, when George speaks and cuts through the heavy silence.

“Scare me.”

His words are so soft, they tickle the pad of Dream’s thumb. Dream doesn’t know what to make of their situation at first, but then he reintroduces his hand to George’s hair, dives down, and slots their lips together. The angle makes the tips of their noses bump and George drowns a giggle into the kiss. When his laughter dies down, Dream decides to push his luck and carefully bites down on George’s swollen bottom lip.

George freezes and Dream can’t help but smile, knowing he’s caught George off guard. It’s ridiculous, considering Dream _had_ technically warned him, but the idea of making out must be very foreign to him so Dream cuts him some slack. Nonetheless, after a few more seconds of slow kissing, George parts his lips tentatively and Dream wastes no time in devouring him.

It’s oddly specific, but George tastes like chocolate strawberries, milk chocolate strawberries to be exact, and Dream finds it funny because that was his favorite snack growing up. Then, Dream realizes that if he thinks hard enough, George also tastes like the waffles his mom used to make him when he was younger, topped with too much syrup and too little whipped cream. In short, George tastes like everything Dream likes and to be fair, it’s not surprising.

It is, however, intoxicating and Dream prods deeper with his tongue while George’s stirs underneath his, eager but unsure. Dream teases him with ghostly touches and that coaxes George into curling his tongue upwards and sliding it over Dream’s. When George gets a tad bit _too_ comfortable with leading, Dream uses the hand at George’s side to flick at the older man’s hip and they part carefully.

“Don’t get so greedy,” Dream mumbles, lips moving lazily against George’s. George only smiles at him, lower lip pushed out into a tempting pout, and Dream pulls away before things get too messy.

There’s a faint knock at their door and Dream sees fear flicker in George’s eyes, probably mirroring the look in his own, before they race to untangle their limbs. Sapnap peeks his head in right as they manage to put a reasonable distance between them. 

“Uh,” Sapnap starts oh-so intellectually, squinting as he tries to take in the sight before him. “Karl’s wondering if you’re rejoining the stream, George. If not, he’s gonna add Techno.”

George is hiding under the covers as if it’ll make him disappear, so Dream answers on his behalf. “No, I think he’s done for the night. He said he was tired.”

“Tired,” Sapnap repeats, sounding everything _but_ convinced. Dream flashes him a smile, all teeth; then he remembers that he looks more maniacal than natural this way and presses his lips together. “Alright, sleep well I guess.”

The door closes shut behind Sapnap and Dream releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, as cliche as it sounds. Next to him, George finally peeks his head out of the covers, glancing around the room cautiously for any intruders, before sitting up straight. Dream blinks at him, startled by his sudden movement, and nearly whines when George leaves his bed for the comfort of his own.

“That would’ve been bad,” George laughs, slipping under his own covers this time and turning his head to flash Dream a boyish grin. “He probably thinks we’re secretly dating or something at this point.”

“Would that be so bad?” Dream finds himself asking without a second thought. He slaps his forehead with his palm the second the words leave his mouth and George chortles at the loud smack that echoes in the room.

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that,” George mutters after yawning quietly. Dream’s not sure what supernatural being is helping him narrowly dodge all these bullets, but he’s thankful for them. “Can you turn the light off, by the way? I’m too comfy to move.”

“What?” Dream asks, sounding mildly irritated, despite already sitting up and peeling his blanket off his body. “Why didn’t you do that when you were walking to your own bed?”

“Forgot.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Dream states firmly, dragging himself towards the switch by the door and flicking it off. When he turns around, George is looking up at him with the corners of his lips curled up smugly and Dream scowls. “Whatever you’re thinking about saying, keep it to yourself.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” George denies and his thumbs fiddle with the ends of his—Dream’s—sweater. He’s cozily tucked in bed with only his arms laid over his blanket, looking way younger than he actually is.

Dream walks over, staring down at George with an unamused countenance. George flinches when Dream leans down and it’s that small spark of power that Dream thrives off of. Before he can talk some sense into himself, Dream leaves a kiss on George’s forehead. It’s soft and sweet and way too vulnerable for Dream to play off without an explanation.

“Goodnight kisses,” Dream says, leaning back so that he can speak without sounding muffled. “Short and simple, but people love them.”

He runs a hand through his hair and then moves to stand up, but George places a hand on Dream’s chest, fingers curling into his shirt and dragging him in close. Dream’s breath hitches when George’s lips meet his own.

“Goodnight,” George whispers after he pulls away. “Like that?”

It’s chaste and Dream can tell that George wasn’t putting much feeling into it. (Or maybe he was, but it still pales in comparison to what Dream had done.)

“Yeah,” Dream nods, swallowing the thick lump in his throat when George giggles, all pleased with his ‘handiwork’. 

“Just like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> University is kicking my ass!
> 
> Anyway, how are you all doing? I hope these past few weeks have been treating you well!
> 
> I know people have been wondering about George's perspective to all of this, but I feel like dragging out Dream's side is much better for the plot. I'll definitely consider adding in a chapter later where we get a peek into George's head, but for now, I hope you can trust in the process! I swear we'll learn more about George's thoughts soon, even if it's not through a full blown update in his pov!
> 
> As always, comments are welcome and appreciated!
> 
> I try my best to reply to everything, but I'm really sorry that I take ages to reply sometimes. I'm usually very occupied with school so I post and then skedaddle until I'm ready for another upload.
> 
> You guys have been very, very, very kind to me so far! Thank you so much for reading and sticking around!


	5. Behind Those White Gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the Gods on Olympus, with their strengths combined, could not amount to the power which George so effortlessly holds.
> 
> Dream would argue that even if he were to suffer an eternity for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: NSFW implications throughout the end! I apologize. :')
> 
> This isn't that bad.. I hope.
> 
> If Dream or George ever change their mind regarding shipping/fanfiction, I will be taking this fic down.

It’s insane how confident George gets overnight. Dream says that fondly, of course, but it truly is insane.

George goes from meekly following Dream’s lead to dragging Dream down out of nowhere. At this rate, Dream’s certain that they’ve kissed in every secluded corner in Karl’s house and when this house of cards comes crashing down, Dream will never be able to look at any inch of this building the same again. It’s a nice place, really, but all he can think about is George pressing him against the wall—any and all walls—and pulling him down so that their eager lips can meet.

To be honest, his ego is a little bruised. Normally, he has the control in these kinds of situations, but lately he’s just been letting George guide him as if he’s a blind man. Now on one hand, it could be because he’s head over heels for the Brit, but on the other hand, he’s also too scared to be as daring as George. Not only is there the risk of being caught, but there’s also the risk of accidentally doing too much.

Dream would rather share a grave with the devil himself than accidentally push farther than George wants him to. Sure, George had given him permission to kiss him “whenever and wherever”, but Dream wants to be careful. Especially because he doesn’t know what he’d do with that much power and if he’d be able to even stop. 

(As in he might accidentally jeopardize their friendship; not anything more than that. He would never take too much without verbal consent.)

It’s clear that George is getting impatient with him. Everytime they share a kiss, George tries to get him to do more, to give more. Dream knows George is eager to learn, but teaching someone how to kiss is much harder than Dream had anticipated. They’ve already learned how to make out and while practice is always useful, what  _ more _ could George possibly want to learn?

Surely.. surely he’s not asking Dream to teach him how to..

“Dream!”

Dream snaps out of his thoughts and takes in his surroundings. They’re in the backyard, having a little barbecue session. He’s on the blanket, spread out and staring at the clouds above, with Sapnap sitting up right next to him. Together, they’ve been listening to Alex and George bicker over how to work the grill while Karl does the actual cooking. Somewhere along the lines, Dream seems to have drifted off.

“Sorry, what?” He asks, turning his head to meet Sapnap’s annoyed gaze. His sheepish smile earns him a flick on the thigh.

“I asked if the sun is bothering you. I can get you a pair of shades,” Sapnap mumbles, stretching his arms out and then pushing himself up onto his feet only for George to steal his seat right after.

“He’s fine!” George chirps happily and Dream raises an eyebrow at him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you changed your name to Dream,” Sapnap snorts. George shrugs, taking no offense to the clear sarcasm. “Whatever, I’m gonna get some more water bottles.”

“Get me a can of pepsi!” Dream shouts and Sapnap waves to let him know he heard him.

“So,” the blonde says, moving his eyes away from Sapnap’s retreating figure and instead focusing on George who is basking in the sunlight right next to him. “Finally lost the argument to Alex?”

“I didn’t lose,” George scoffs and then shrugs his cardigan off. Dream isn’t sure why he’s wearing one, but then he remembers that George isn’t used to the heat and probably doesn’t know how to dress up properly for it either.

Dream freezes when he feels George lay down next to him. He becomes extremely self-aware of his own body, wondering if there’s sweat that’s collected on his arm and dreading how George would react if there was. However, George doesn’t flinch away in disgust so Dream takes that as a good sign.

“The sun needs to get a job,” George groans, holding his cardigan up so that both of them get some shade for their faces. Dream helps him by grabbing onto one end, twitching when the hem of the cardigan tickles his neck.

“This  _ is _ its job, George,” Dream chuckles, turning his head to look at the man beside him. He gets a scowl in response. “Very mature.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

A much needed breeze blows past them through the material of George’s cardigan. Dream considers dropping it, but doesn’t have the heart to upon seeing that George seems very content at the moment.

There’s a loud bang that sounds from a few feet in front of them, but the cloth hinders his sight. Karl and Alex end up in a lighthearted argument (again) and a few minutes later, Dream hears Sapnap’s loud sigh. A clatter of metal follows and Dream guesses that Sapnap is taking over the grill while the other two continue their banter. Next to Dream, George is giggling.

“Hey,” George says when he catches Dream’s stare.

“Hi.” It’s moments like this that makes Dream feel as if he’s in some cliché teen romcom.

Too busy imagining them (mostly George) in a movie, Dream fails to immediately notice the mischievous glint in George’s eyes like he normally would. He only catches it the second before George’s eyelids snap shut and his soft lips meet Dream’s.

Dream panics.

The hand he has on the cardigan begins to shake lightly, as if he’s unsure what to do with it. As much as he’s yearning to reach out and hold George like he normally does, he can’t. The others will see them if he does.

George is merciless. The kiss starts off light and sweet, but George grows confident way too quickly. His teeth tease at Dream’s lower lip before delivering a light tug, hinting that he wants Dream to do something.

Dream thinks George has too much faith in a flimsy piece of cloth.

Before Dream can even close his eyes, let alone respond to the kiss, he hears the grass crunching underneath someone’s shoes. George pulls away and the cardigan drops.

“Here’s your pepsi,” Sapnap mumbles, sitting down next to George and then splaying his upper torso over both of his best friends. Dream grunts upon the sudden extra weight he’s carrying after being used as a make-shift couch, but Sapnap has no remorse. “You guys are too bony, but it’ll do.”

“Sapnap, move,” George complains, trying to push the youngest off of them with the one arm that’s free. “It’s hot, get off!”

“I bet it is,” Sapnap snickers and Dream shakes his head at the joke, trying his best not to laugh and failing miserably. “You were literally just cuddling with Dream, George. Give me some love too.”

“We weren’t cuddling,” Dream protests, but it falls on deaf ears. Sapnap is too busy trying to smooch George and George is shrieking in pain and agony.

“To be fair, Dream could probably push me off if he wanted to,” Sapnap says nonchalantly, turning his head to look up at the tall male. “Unlike you, he just loves me too much.”

Dream gives him a look and Sapnap grins cheekily, only to yelp when Dream finally raises his arms and shoves the younger man away.

“Yes!” George shouts as if he were the one that got them out of the situation. “He loves me  _ more!” _

“To a fault, actually,” Dream mutters, but once again, both of his friends are too busy with one another to hear him. Sapnap is tackling George down and George is a mess of whines and giggles. 

Dream parts his lips with the urge to say something, to tell Sapnap to _get_ _off of George,_ but he shuts them once he realizes it’s not his place to do that. How would he even explain such a thing?

“Hotdogs are ready! Wings coming up soon,” Karl announces. Sapnap and George race over to him, joining Alex who is already devouring his snack, but Dream sits still.

He turns the can of pepsi around in his hand, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. It’s cold and serves as a temporary distraction from his thoughts as well as a remedy for the heat licking at the pit of his stomach.

“Dream, if you don’t eat this I will,” Alex promises. Dream knows he’s bluffing—Alex is only saying that so that Dream will finally eat something—but he stands up anyway and begins to make his way over.

Dream’s eyes betray him by shifting a little to the right where George is silently munching on his meal. He pauses for a split second when he notices that the brunette is already staring at him. Luckily, the other boys are too occupied to notice his brief moment of panic and Dream continues walking.

When he reaches the table, George slides his plate over to him with a knowing smirk.

* * *

“You’re,” Dream begins and then flails his hands in exasperation. “You’re too risky! What  _ was _ that, George? They were right there! They could’ve seen!”

“Calm down, Dream,” George replies with ease. They’re in their room, winding down a bit before they join the others for dinner. “People make kissing out to be this big deal, but it’s not. I just wanted to see if I could find  _ some _ sort of thrill in it.”

“Well,  _ of course _ it’s not a big deal!” Dream cries out, flopping onto his bed and yanking his pillow over his face. “I told you it’s only nice when it’s with someone special.” He can feel a rant coming. “We’re just friends. It’ll never feel that way! So stop being so reckless!”

“Whoa, what? Why are you so worked up over this?”

“Because  _ you _ said you didn’t want them finding out! I’m respecting that,” Dream explains, speaking a little louder so that the pillow doesn’t muffle his words.

“Yeah, but if we get caught because of me, I won’t pin it on you obviously,” George mumbles, clearly confused as to why Dream is throwing a tantrum. 

Dream knows he’s being unreasonable, but he can’t help it. He’s not good at handling his emotions; he’s  _ never _ been. He tears the pillow away and then sits up, whipping around to face George who has awkwardly closed in on himself.

“Have you cared about what _I_ think, George? Maybe I don’t want people seeing me _tongue_ _fucking_ my best friend’s throat!”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave him, slapping a hand over his mouth and groaning in guilt. George slouches in defeat, but Dream feels like he’s the one that has lost.

“George, I didn’t mean it like that,” he begins, running a hand through his hair. “I was just stressed and-”

“I said we didn’t have to do this if you didn’t want to,” George says quietly, staring at the wooden floorboard underneath him. “I said it, Dream.”

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” George asks, punching out what sounds like a mixture of a laugh and a scoff. “I didn’t force you to do this.”

“George-”

“You could've just told me!” George shouts, finally glancing up at Dream with a furious glare. Dream’s lips part when he sees the unshed tears that have collected on George’s lower lash line. “You could've told me you didn’t want to do it and I would’ve respected that.”

There’s a beat of silence and George reaches up to harshly wipe at his eyes with the sleeve of his cardigan. Dream tries to stand up and makes his way to George but George takes a step back.

“Don’t you fucking dare get close to me.”

Dream freezes in place, hands dropping to his sides and heart sinking to his stomach.

“I didn’t ask for your pity. I asked for your  _ help _ because you’re my friend, but you could’ve said no. I would’ve figured it out by myself. I’m  _ not _ your problem to solve.”

Everything is so, so twisted.

“Sorry that kissing me is so humiliating! Really. I’m truly sorry. God forbid they find out you kissed me!”

“That’s not it,” Dream tries again but George raises a hand to silence him.

“I won’t embarrass you any further,” George says, voice scarily steady for someone who has tear stains on the corners of their eyes. “You’re free, Clay. You’re free of me.”

Dream hears the door slam shut behind George, but he doesn’t have the energy to chase after him. He should, but he can’t. He’s still processing everything that’s just happened.

Where did it go so wrong?

He shouldn’t have said what he did. He knew it would come out wrong and he  _ still _ said it because of his impulses—because of the fear that George would realize he was only scared people would find out because then he’d have to explain why he said “yes” to the circumstances in the first place. He didn’t want George to know he was enjoying their shared kisses, secretive or not. Worst of all, he didn’t want to keep projecting onto George, reading more into the latter’s actions for no reason; very briefly, he’d tricked himself into thinking George had taken that risk because he wanted him.

There were so many other things he could’ve said, but again, he’s never been good at handling his emotions.

“Fuck,” he sighs, pressing his palms against his face and slouching against the wall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

_ You’re free, Clay. You’re free of me. _

No, Dream isn’t. He’s anything but free. He’s chained and there’s no key for the lock that holds him still. This is wrong. He shouldn’t be falling for his best friend, he shouldn’t be using George’s desire to learn kissing to satisfy his own urges, he shouldn’t be welcoming these sinful thoughts of delving past what George is giving him.

So then why does it feel so right?

Why do his fingers slot so perfectly between the gaps of George’s? Why does the curve of his palm match the dip of George’s waist as if they were molded from the same clay?

And  _ God _ tell him why their kisses—from the start, from when he took George’s first, from when George was sloppy and uncoordinated—made him feel like there would be nothing better that life would have to offer?

“The fuck did you do?”

Dream jolts, staring at Alex who has barged in the room. There’s no malice to his voice, just concern. Karl steps in quietly after him and shuts the door. The pair stand there, waiting for Dream to say something, but Dream doesn’t know what to say.

“George was mad as heck,” Karl mutters, sitting on the bed to make himself comfortable. Dream realizes they’re not going to leave until they get some sort of explanation.

“Yeah. I’m your roommate for now, bud,” Alex snorts, sitting down beside Karl and leaning over to obnoxiously pat the air next to them. There’s no space left on the bed. “You can sit on the floor. You’re already tall so it’s only fair.”

Dream rolls his eyes and sits down on his own bed to which Alex scoffs playfully and Karl sneers.

“Nothing happened,” he says. Karl and Alex share a look before sending the same one to Dream. “Okay, well. It wasn’t that big of a problem. We just fought a little.”

“A little?” Karl repeats in disbelief. “A little? Dude, he came in looking like he was going to box someone’s head with a frying pan.”

“Oddly specific,” Alex comments with a bewildered gaze.

“I said something I didn’t mean.” The confession feels dry without the specific details, but Dream can’t dig deeper for several reasons. “I was just stressed out and things came out wrong.”

“Well, whatever it is,” Alex starts and Dream is thankful he notices that the vagueness is there for a reason. “I’m sure he’ll understand. Talk to him when you’re ready—but that better be soon. I want peaceful dinners.”

“We care about you, man,” Karl chimes in with a lopsided grin and Dream tries to send one back, but the light doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I really am your roommate though. So have fun dealing with me until you apologize.” With that, Alex lays down onto George’s bed and makes himself comfortable. He makes a show of it just to get on Dream’s nerves, but Dream knows the intent behind that is to distract him from his worries. Dream’s thankful for a friend like Alex.

“Oh and I’m a cuddler, by the way.”

Or maybe he isn’t, but appreciates Alex’s sentiment.

* * *

_ Soon _ is definitely not soon. 

Karl is being more than generous to let them stay at his house for a month so Dream shouldn’t be dragging this “drama” on for so long because it’s definitely messing with the dynamic, therefore being counterintuitive to the reason Karl looped them here in the first place. They’re just past the halfway mark of their stay, four days after  _ the _ argument, when Karl has enough and lays down new ground rules.

“This is ridiculous!” Karl throws his hands up in the air when George ushers him out of his seat and into the one next to Dream’s because he doesn’t want to sit there. “You two are being babies.”

“Ditto,” Sapnap agrees in a heartbeat. He finishes the last sip of his monster energy drink and then tosses it towards the bin, but misses. Alex snickers to himself.

“Dude,  _ dudes, _ look. I know whatever went down was pretty bad,” Karl says, glancing back and forth between Dream and George who both look guilty as charged. “But you guys are best friends. We’re all best friends! And we’re here  _ together _ so, for the love of God, just sort this shit out.”

“For real,” Alex jumps in, fingers reaching up to adjust his beanie out of habit. “I’m getting really tired of cuddling Dream every night. I don’t know how you do it, Gogy.”

“I don’t do that,” George denies quickly and Dream blinks twice. It’s odd to him that George immediately goes to defend himself instead of realizing that Dream doesn’t, in fact, need to be cuddled. Did he come off as that much of a loser?

“With the way you’ve been in my bed the past few days, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Sapnap counters, wiggling his eyebrows to add onto the effect. Dream whips his head to glance at George again, expecting some sort of witty remark, but George is just glaring with his lips pursed.

Joke or not, why had George been so quick to deny cuddling with Dream when Dream had been the butt-end of the joke, only to accept Sapnap’s teasing when it was clearly directed to him? 

That  _ was _ a joke, wasn’t it?

“We have another stream planned tomorrow on Alex’s channel, so please try to make up by then,” Karl sighs, slouching over in defeat when he sees that only Dream is paying attention to him at this point. “The fans will definitely know something is up and I really don’t want everyone to stress over that.”

“Okay,” Dream says quietly and Karl tosses him a small, appreciative smile. Of course George hasn’t agreed to it yet, way too preoccupied with fighting the other two men at the table, but Dream makes it his responsibility to reach out anyway. 

He should’ve apologized the day of, if he’s being honest. However, he was too shaken up to form coherent sentences. The morning after that, he felt guilty for not immediately addressing it and couldn’t face George, and from then it had spiraled. As more and more guilt accumulated, the distance between them grew, until the others couldn’t ignore it anymore and here they were.

In Dream’s opinion, the situation had simply been blown out of proportion and that had been his fault. Now the wise thing to do would be to apologize and then admit that he can no longer continue helping George, in case something like this happens again.

But of course he can’t pull through with the latter half.

He’s both selfish and desperate, the worst combination for a  _ simp.  _ Whatever George asks for, Dream will provide; it’s been like this since before he developed feelings, so why would it be any different now?

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see George stomp off angrily. Sapnap is on his heels, saying something Dream can’t make out. By the looks of it—and “the looks” meaning Alex slamming his fist on his table while laughing and Sapnap wiping tears from the corners of his eyes—he assumes George is fed up with their teasing for today.

It’s noon.

“What did you do?” Karl sighs, rubbing his temples with his fingers. He doesn’t get paid enough for this; he doesn’t get paid at  _ all _ actually.

“Nothing,” Alex dismisses, finally catching his breath after laughing non-stop for the past five minutes. “Seriously! He’s just extra moody today. Sapnap’s checking on him.”

Karl turns to face Dream with an apologetic smile, “Maybe you should wait on having the talk then.”

“No,” Alex butts in after regaining composure. “No, no, no. If he doesn’t do it now, he’s  _ never _ gonna do it. Look at that motherfucker. He’s a pussy.”

Dream snorts and Alex tosses him a playful grin.

“I’m 100% percent not kidding though. Do it now, after Sapnap’s done calming him down.”

“Are you sure?” Karl squints with uncertainty. They all know how menacing George can be when he’s mad.

“I have never been surer in my entire life!” Alex forms two thumbs up before nodding at Dream. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Dream thanks him with a painfully awkward smile before standing up and quietly walking upstairs. Karl’s and Alex’s voices get fainter while Sapnap’s and George’s grow louder. The latter pair sound muffled, thanks to the soundproof walls and their bedroom door being sealed shut, but Dream can still make out bits of their conversation and infer the missing words in between.

“You’re such a liar, George!”

“I’m not! It’s true!”

“Why the fuck am I second?”

Dream flinches at Sapnap’s volume. His irritation bleeds through the cracks of their bedroom door, but there are no footsteps. They’re most likely in a light-hearted argument; Dream can wait his turn.

“Are you seriously going to ask that question? It’s self-explanatory.” 

“And offensive!” Dream can  _ hear _ Sapnap’s pout. “Well, did you figure it out?”

“Um,” there’s a pause. “I think?”

“Do you want to try again?”

It would be better for Dream to leave. It really would. He should turn on his heels and walk away—maybe clear his head and practice an apology before coming back in five minutes—but curiosity gets the best of him like it always does. He leans in closer, ear nearly touching the door, and he can hear George say something, but it’s too quiet for him to decipher.

Then, the floorboards underneath him betray him with a squeak.

“Hello?” Sapnap sounds disgruntled. 

Dream resists the urge to smack himself in the face. While he wants to run away, that would probably do more harm than good, so he owns up to his sneaking.

“Yeah, uh. Hi,” Dream grimaces. “I was wondering if I could talk to George.”

There’s more muffled bickering and Dream thinks he hears a distinctive whine from George before feet stumble towards the door that swings open with no warning. Dream’s greeted with a fierce glare from the shorter man of the two and a grin from the younger. Sapnap’s hand lingers on George’s back and Dream mentally praises him for having the patience to put up with George’s temper.

“He’s all yours!” Sapnap announces and then he turns his head, smile turning practically lethal when it’s aimed towards the brit who looks away nervously. “Behave.”

With that, Sapnap slips past the pair that loiter awkwardly by the door frame. It takes a second for George to be able to look Dream in the eye, but when he does he scoffs and steps back into the room. Dream stands motionless by the door, unsure of what to do, but George sits on the bed and then stares at him expectantly.

“Well? Are you gonna come in or what?”

Dream steps in cautiously, scared that one wrong move will have George changing his mind. He closes the door behind him slowly and George mutters something under his breath that he can’t quite catch.

“What?” He asks and George rolls his eyes. Normally, Dream would be fed up with George’s bratty temper tantrum, but right now he has broken bridges to mend and driving a truck over it would do anything but that.

“Lock it.” George repeats with an irritated grumble and Dream does just that. “Come here.”

Dream’s legs feel heavier than usual as he walks over to George, tentatively leaning against the edge of the bed to silently ask for permission to sit. George sighs and gestures at the space next to him.

Now that Dream’s here, he realizes he’s unsure of where to start. He sits down quietly and stares at George for a good minute before the moment is broken.

“So, pray tell me, why did you interrupt?”

Dream’s throat grows dry, “George.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” George scoffs, eyes trained on his lap, where his fingers are busy playing with a loose thread from his pants.

“George,” Dream repeats, desperate. “I’m sorry.”

In front of him, George freezes. The room gets colder (or maybe it’s just the beating of Dream’s heart getting slower).

“I’m really sorry,” Dream seizes the opportunity presented by George’s silence to continue. “I was being a complete dick, I know. I was thinking about how you might feel if people found out, but then you basically said you didn’t  _ care _ and I started getting worried because- because what if it happens and suddenly you  _ do _ care? I don’t like when you get upset, George.”

George stares up at him with parted lips, but nothing comes out. Dream takes this as a sign to keep speaking.

“I care about you, Georgie,” Dream smiles nervously, the nickname feeling natural on his tongue. “I care about you a lot. That’s why I  _ volunteered _ to do all of this. You didn’t force me, idiot. I-”

_ -wanted to kiss you. _

Dream coughs, “I was happy to help.”

George raises a finger, asking for Dream to pause; Dream doesn’t have anything more to say anyway. “So let me get this straight,” George pinches the bridge of his nose. “You threw a fit saying I was disregarding your feelings.. when your feelings didn’t concern yourself but me?”

Dream flushes, not expecting George to word it like that. “Well,” he begins a futile attempt to save some of his dignity. “I wouldn’t say a fit.”

“A fit,” George says firmly. Then he tosses a glance in Dream’s direction. “You’re a prick.”

Dream laughs, a weight lifting off his shoulders at the sight of George’s small smile. “Yeah, you never fail to remind me.”

“No, seriously,” George mumbles, lightly hitting Dream on the arm. It doesn’t hurt, but Dream still rubs the area. “You made it sound like I cornered you and forced you to- you know.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not like that,” Dream reassures and then raises an eyebrow in amusement. “I wouldn’t let myself be cornered by someone fun-sized.”

“Oh, fuck you,” George laughs, short and sweet. He tilts his head back, staring up at the idle ceiling fan.

Dream copies him, humming softly, “What were you and Sapnap arguing about? It sounded pretty heated at first. I feared my life and I wasn’t even in here.”

“How much did you hear?” George asks, awfully suspicious. It almost sounds like  _ ‘Why were you listening?’ _

“Not much,” Dream answers truthfully. He turns his head to look at George, but George is still focused on the bland ceiling above him. “Something about him being second and you wanting to ‘try again’?” He watches George stiffen up, the muscles on his jaw growing tense, and tries to break the growing feeling of discomfort. “I’m guessing he’s second to  _ me  _ because let's face it. I’m first at everything.”

“Yeah, especially at being an idiot,” George fires and much to Dream’s delight, he seems to ease up. “You’re not entirely wrong though. You  _ were _ first in this scenario.”

Dream thinks George’s shrug is too nonchalant for what he’s just said. “What?” he asks, losing all of his impish mirth from earlier. Being a part of an argument between his best friends isn’t exactly heart warming. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” George replies softly. He falls back onto the sheets, fluttering his eyes shut, and if it weren’t for the faint color beginning to bloom on his cheeks, Dream would’ve taken his reluctance as a signal to stop prying.

“Tell me,” he urges, bumping George’s thigh with his own and shifting to face him.

George refuses to open his eyes, “He was just upset I went to you first about my.. problem? Whatever it is.” A yawn filters through his sentence and he drapes an arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight that’s glaring in from the windows.

It takes Dream a second to figure out why he feels so sour upon hearing George’s explanation.  _ First. _ George had said first, implying that he had told Sapnap about the kissing ordeal which in turn meant-

“You kissed him?”

“To be fair,  _ he _ kissed  _ me, _ if we want to get technical,” George scoffs. His right leg has started bouncing up and down from where it hangs, over the edge of the bed, pressed against Dream. The sound of jeans sliding against each other normally irritates the taller male, but right now, he can’t care enough to complain.

“Way too eager,” a laugh escapes George as he recalls the memory. “It made me start to wonder if I really  _ was _ forcing you because, again, you never initiate our sessions. Well, only if I ask you to. So yeah, I felt really bad.”

“You weren’t forcing me,” Dream says for what feels like the umpteenth time that day and George hums, grateful for the clarification. “Is that- is that what you wanted to try again?”

“Hm?” George asks, mind already drifting between a state of reality and unconsciousness. Dream grabs his arm and yanks it away from his face so that the sun bothers him again. Sure enough, George’s eyes crack open and he throws a lazy glance at Dream. “What?”

“Were you going to kiss Sapnap again?” Dream asks a bit more bluntly this time and George blinks, gaze shifting from Dream’s face to the iron grip the blonde has on his forearm.

“Um,” George begins, a confused frown etching onto his forehead. “Yeah, I guess? I just wanted to see if it was different. Dream- Clay, why does it matter?”

The blonde ignores the question all together, using the leverage he has from his grip on the other to draw himself closer. “Tell him you don’t need his help,” Dream orders, now dangerously close to George’s face. “I’m teaching you, he doesn't need to.”

“You both kiss differently,” George laughs a bit awkwardly, trying to move away from Dream’s heated gaze, but having nowhere to go. “The more experience, the better, isn’t it?”

The arm Dream’s holding onto gets pinned next to George’s head and George can’t even form a question before he’s suddenly caged underneath Dream. Their breaths mingle, but while Dream’s are heavy and shake as if he’s holding something back, George’s are short and match the quick pace of his heart. 

The look on Dream’s face is frightening.

“There’s nothing he can teach you that I can’t,” Dream mumbles, not even trying to hide the way his eyes rake over George’s facial features. “Besides, I’d be indirectly kissing my  _ brother. _ That wasn’t in the contract, was it?”

“We didn’t have a contract,” George huffs, weakly wiggling his arms that remain tight in Dream’s grasp. Dream doesn’t budge an inch, only smirking at George in that same frustratingly cocky way he always does whenever he wins something. “Fine, whatever! I wasn’t planning on kissing him more than twice anyway. Now let me up.”

“Mm, I don’t think so,” Dream teases and George splutters, claiming that he’s been scammed. It sends Dream into a wheezing fit and amid the shorter man’s rant, he pulls him up and flips them over carefully.

George stops berating Dream to yelp when he feels as if he’s going to fall onto the floor. His hands reach out, desperately bunching into Dream’s shirt, but it’s to no avail. He feels himself slip out of the blonde’s hold and he braces himself for the impact.

It never comes.

“Careful, princess,” Dream laughs, arms wrapped around George’s waist as he slowly drags the startled man higher up on his lap. “Wouldn’t want you getting bruises on that pretty face of yours.”

“Shut up,” George seethes, awkwardly shifting in Dream’s lap. This is new for them—new for George in general. He’s never been in someone else’s lap, other than his mother’s (when he was a toddler, might he add), and now here he was hiked up on Dream’s for God knows what reason. “What are you doing?”

“Easy,” Dream tries to soothe George of his suspicions by patting the small of his back reassuringly. His hands itch with the urge to travel lower, but it’s best to stop that train of thought. Especially when the object of his affection is  _ literally _ sitting on his lap. “Do you remember what you said the other day?”

“I said a lot of things the other day, whichever day ‘the other day’ even means,” George snarks, loosening his fists and trying to smoothen the crinkles in Dream’s shirt apologetically.

“You told me to scare you,” Dream reminds, leaning in to brush his nose over George’s. 

It’s soft and bleeds of his true intentions, but that’s everything he’s sure George doesn’t want, so he hides behind a devilish grin. And  _ fuck it, _ Dream thinks, moving his hands down to cup over George’s backside. It earns him a surprised gasp and a flustered glare.

“I’m going to make you regret that.”

Before George has time to protest, Dream dives in. Their lips clash together and Dream relishes in the way George responds almost immediately, melting into Dream’s embrace. He drinks in the way George’s mouth feels hot and heavy against his, pressing the brunet closer to him than ever before, and hears the soft gasps of air George takes. 

There’s inexperience that’s expected, but also a forbidden eagerness that matches Dream’s.

“Hey,” Dream mumbles, pulling away just enough to speak. George makes a noise in protest, but Dream holds his ground, no matter how much he wants to continue to kiss the man senseless. “Is this okay?”

Carefully, his hands flex over the curve of George’s ass before delivering a shallow squeeze. The reaction is immediate; George falls forward, his forehead pressing against Dream’s as a shudder runs through his entire body. Dream feels the fire in the pit of his stomach begin to consume him.

“George,” Dream whispers, insistent in getting a verbal response even though the answer is clear. “I need to hear you say it.”

_ “Yes, _ asshole!” George replies, hands reaching up and folding over one another as they cup the back of Dream’s neck. With the new leverage, he roughly tugs Dream in.

And who was Dream to deny such a beauty of what it wants.

They lose themselves in one another quickly. Dream kisses with a passion he can no longer hide while George obediently takes all that’s thrown at him. The latter’s lips go slack, struggling to keep up with the fast pace, but Dream doesn’t care. He breaks the kiss shortly, nipping at George’s lower lip to ask him to part them. George is too dazed to understand, so Dream takes the chance to knead his ass firmly, making the former gasp and finally grant Dream the access he needs.

Their tongues slide over and under one another, neither backing down from the fight for dominance. Dream’s tongue swirls once, twice, over George’s before reaching deeper, leaving no part unexplored. Above him, George is struggling to keep up, Dream’s sinful groping only serving to weaken him even more until he ultimately loses. Satisfied, Dream pulls away and the smile he flashes his friend is almost predatory.

“Georgie,” he mumbles, one hand coming up to cup George’s jaw. Dream’s thumb catches the string of saliva that connects their rosy lips and a filthy idea comes to mind. It’s one that Dream’s been thinking about for weeks; something that’s finally become attainable.

He brings his finger to George’s lips, pushing into the warm cavern. George pauses for a second, trying to process what just happened, and Dream expects him to pull away in disgust. To his surprise, George presses his lips shut.

Heat envelops Dream’s thumb as George lets it rest in his mouth, unsure. A second later, Dream discerns a soft sucking and then feels George’s tongue press against the pad of his finger before the man pulls off with a small ‘pop’. Dream is stunned, to say the least.

George smiles shyly, “Was that right?” His lips press into a thin line, grimacing as the severity of what he’s done slowly sets in, but he searches for Dream’s approval nonetheless. “Did I do good?”

“Yeah,” Dream affirms breathlessly, eyes traveling down from George’s swollen lips to the pale expanse of his neck. If Dream is going to risk this much today, it wouldn’t hurt to indulge himself in more. 

In fact, he  _ should  _ because he never knows when this will be ripped away from him, right? He doesn’t know when George will decide that he’s learned enough and pull himself away from Dream, only to waltz into the arms of someone else. He doesn’t know when George will have had his fun with him and they’ll go back to how they were before, with George offering him nothing while all Dream wants is more. He doesn’t know when George will leave him missing all that he once had.

He hikes George closer until their chests are flush against each other. “Ready?” Dream mutters and George makes a noise as if to ask what for. “You’re going to want to pay attention to this. It’s your next lesson.”

The words die on George’s jawline, morphing into gentle kisses. Dream slowly works his way up to the junction underneath George’s ear, nipping playfully every now and then, nothing too extreme. Once he reaches his destination, he playfully pats the side of George’s bum, catching the man’s attention.

“This isn’t..” George trails off, breathing shakily.

Dream chuckles, aware of what George is trying to say, “It’s a form of kisses, Georgie. You want to learn it all, don’t you?”

The following kisses down George’s neck are open-mouthed, Dream’s tongue flattening against the salty skin every now and then. Eventually, gentle suction and teasing bites are also applied. Dream focuses on one spot, sucking on the small patch of skin before rolling it between his rows of teeth. Once he’s done, he soothes the area with his tongue and blows on it to feel the way George trembles above him.

It’s unbelievable, really. Dream feels like the luckiest man on earth to have a deity here in his arms. George is beautiful, ethereal, could parallel Aphrodite if he wanted to. Yet the sounds he makes—the jagged gasps, the lovely whines—resemble the sound of Apollo’s lyre.  _ Oh _ and if George was the son of Apollo, with the way he basks in the sun so tall and proud with nothing around him but harmonious sounds, then Dream was surely the son of Dionysious, with chaos and no sense of self in a crowd full of those who wish to sin.

George’s hand tugs on Dream’s hair hard enough for it to sting, but that only eggs Dream on further and he moves his lips down to another place on George’s neck where he applies the same treatment as before. When George emits a soft sigh of approval, tilting his head back to give Dream better access, the younger man pulls away with a mischievous smirk. 

George snaps his head to face Dream, pouting, “Why’d.. why’d you stop?”

“Tell me, George,” Dream mumbles, resting a hand on the nape of George’s neck and stamping his thumb over one of the many blooming bruises. “Do you think Sapnap could’ve taught you this?”

The question catches George off guard and when he doesn’t reply as quick as Dream’s thin patience wants him to, Dream digs into the plush skin of George’s neck with both his thumb and pointer finger. He can feel the spike in George’s heart rate from the pulses that pump rhythmically under his fingers and it  _ excites _ him.

George’s hands hook onto Dream’s forearm, but make no move to loosen his grip. If anything, they only encourage him to press harder and so he does, taking in the way George gasps, needy and flushed, before the man  _ finally _ cries out.

“No! You narcissistic arse!” 

His eyes shine with unshed tears, reminding Dream of how easily he cries. The blood in Dream’s body rushes down at record speed and the way George is writhing in his lap, helpless under Dream’s touch, only makes matters worse.

He lets go, dropping his hands at his sides before curling his fingers into the sheets of the bed and trying to will away the fucking boner he knows he’s about to sport. “Lesson over,” he says quickly, trying to usher George off his lap by moving his legs.

All that does is cause George to slip closer, their hips mere centimeters from touching, and Dream inhales sharply. God, how could he have been such a fucking idiot? If he couldn’t control himself around George normally, what made him think he’d have some superhuman restraint now?

God seems to be merciful on Dream today because George gets the memo and stands up, off of Dream’s lap where there’s a new kind of heat emitting. He turns around, searching for something in the room with his eyes while Dream silently watches him.

“Jesus, Clay,” George whispers and Dream tries to see what George is in awe of, only to see the smaller man staring directly at his reflection. Their gazes meet in the mirror and George lifts his hand, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “How am I going to explain  _ these, _ idiot?”

Dream’s eyes trace the constellation of purple and red hues on George’s otherwise unblemished complexion. They stand out almost tauntingly, tempting Dream to leave more all over the newly exposed skin George is showing and maybe lower, lower,  _ lower. _

“We fought?” Dream offers and George scoffs.

“As if they would believe that you’re capable of hurting anyone, especially me,” George mumbles, still looking over the marks. “You’re too much of a softie and that’s not something anyone should lie about.” Then he turns his head and Dream can see the faint marks his fingers have also left on George’s skin.

It’s too much.

Dream discreetly tugs his shirt down, hoping to hide his very evident problem. George doesn’t notice (blessed be the Gods) and does a small twirl so that he can face Dream again. “I need a whisk,” he says abruptly and Dream gives him an incredulous look. “I saw it on tiktok.”

That elicits a laugh from Dream, “You saw it on titkok. Of course you did.”

“It works!” George grumbles, going over to the door and unlocking it, only to peek his head out as if they were in the middle of some covert mission. “The house is quiet. Seems like they left to get lunch.”

“Probably did,” Dream agrees, hoping George would just get on with it and  _ leave _ so that he could race off into the bathroom and handle his.. issue. “Must’ve thought we needed privacy. That’s thoughtful.”

“None of them know what I want though,” George complains, swinging the door open and then finally stepping out. “It better be good food,” is the last thing he says before Dream hears him descend the stairs.

Dream counts to five before standing up and making a beeline for the bathroom, trying not to be too loud. God forbid George hears him and figures out how much of a fucking  _ pervert _ he is.

He stares at the mirror in the bathroom, taking in the sight of his messy locks, wrinkled shirt, and the red flush on his cheeks. “Fuck,” he groans, flipping down the lid of the toilet seat before sitting down and working down the zipper of his jeans. “Fuck this.”

_ Scare me. _

Dream shakes his head as the words echo in his mind, his hands working hastily to push down the waistband of his briefs.

“Scare you,” he repeats with a pathetic laugh. “As if I could.”

A sigh leaves him as he runs a hand through his hair and then he hunches over, eyes fluttering shut to succumb to the lustful wonders of his brain. 

“But you, darling..”

Dream tosses his head back, a guttural moan evading him as he pictures his glimpse of Heaven on his knees before him.

“You’re going to ruin me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of support I have been receiving recently is insane and I am so thankful for it. I have a lot to improve on as a writer, so please bear with me. I will try my best!
> 
> This is something that has always been a hobby of mine and it's a relief that people enjoy what I put out there. Reading comments never fail to make my day and I appreciate each and every one of you who have shared your thoughts with me! I also appreciate the kudos (I can't believe we're nearing 1000) and also the silent readers!
> 
> I've been thinking about making a twitter solely for my writing so that people can share their thoughts to me more directly, but I'm a little nervous, haha. I plan on writing other fics in the future, be it chaptered ones or one-shots and I might even do some while I'm working on this fic. (I get DNF brainrot often.) So, it would be nice to have somewhere to update people, meet other writers, or just talk to fellow MCYT fans.
> 
> I'll plug my twitter in the notes section if I eventually do decide to make one! 
> 
> Again, thank you, really, and I'm sorry if I don't get to reply to all the comments!


End file.
